


Being Blue Is Better Than Being Over It

by halfsweet



Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Grief/Mourning, M/M, Moving On, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-07-15 20:32:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7237396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfsweet/pseuds/halfsweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since Brendon died in a war, Patrick has been grieving. Even with supportive family and friends by his side, Patrick just can't bring himself to move on.</p><p>A year later, Patrick's still grieving. But when he meets a kind doctor with his seven year-old son, things start to look up for him.</p><p>(The warning only applies to Brendon because he dies in the beginning.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based on a request that an anon sent on my tumblr:
> 
> "Would you do/write a story where Brendon was a soldier and he has to go and leave Patrick. Then Patrick received a news that Brendon died in the war. After few years, Patrick met Pete."
> 
> So, this is something new for me, and I have a feeling that it's going to be different than my other stories. Hope you enjoy this!
> 
> As always, I didn't double check this, so pardon any mistakes. It's almost 2 am here :/

_November_

Brendon has been away for almost a year now, and there's no doubt that Patrick misses him terribly. But it's already nearing the end of November, and the fact that Brendon's due home in a couple of weeks sends a rush of happiness inside him.

They get to spend Christmas and New Year together this time around.

And best of all? _They get to plan their upcoming wedding together._

"Uncle Tricky!"

Patrick snaps out of his thoughts as he hears a loud cry of his name followed by the sound of soft pitter-patter of little feet running towards him. Next thing he knows, he has an armful of a giggling five years old child.

"You're staring again, Uncle Tricky," the child looks up at him after settling comfortably in his lap. "Are you thinking of Uncle Brenny again?"

Patrick smiles at the girl and brushes her bangs away from her forehead. The child, Amy, is Brendon's niece. Whenever her parents are away for business trips, they would drop off her and her brother with them.

And Patrick absolutely adores them. He was afraid of meeting Brendon's family for the first time when they began dating, and was pleasantly surprised when they gave him a warm welcome into the family, especially the kids.

"Of course. Don't you miss him too?" Patrick smiles as he pinches Amy's nose, chuckling at her pout.

"I miss Uncle Brenny buying us ice-creams and taking us to the park." She sighs and kicks her legs back and forth, then looks up at Patrick with bright eyes. "Let's go to the park, Uncle Tricky!"

Her enthusiasm brings a laugh out of Patrick, and he can't help but ruffle her hair. "Uncle Tricky! You're messing my hair!"

"Ask your mom and dad first. Then I'll take you and your brother to the park for some ice-cream."

As soon as Amy jumps off of his lap, Patrick turns to look at the various wedding pamphlets and magazines spread out on the coffee table. He picks one up and skims through it.

"Have you two set the date yet?"

Patrick glances up to see a smile on Grace's face. The older woman bears an uncanny resemblance to her youngest son. He smiles at the thought of him, cheeks tinted red. "Yeah. Brendon wants the wedding to be sometime around mid-April."

"Oh? Any particular reason?" Grace tilts her head, curious.

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly and flushes. When he first asked Brendon the same question, the dark-haired man gave him a really cheesy, in Patrick's opinion, yet thoughtful answer at the same time. And after hearing his answer, Patrick might or might not have swoon over his fiance again then and there.

"Well, we first met and started dating in April. And our anniversary and birthdays are in April, so he wants the wedding to be somewhere in between. He, uh, he wants more reason to celebrate April other than our birthdays." His face is glowing red by the time he finishes his sentence. He doesn't get how Brendon can say something _so cheesy_ with a _straight face_. "Two birthdays and two anniversaries in one month, so there's something to celebrate every week." he adds, mumbling in embarrassment.

From his left, he can hear Boyd laughing his heart out. "That's Brendon alright. He kept saying April's his favourite month. I thought it was just because of his birthday. Looks like it's much more than that, huh?"

Grace covers her mouth and giggles. "Typical Brendon. So, how are you going to plan the wedding?"

"Bren just told me to pick several options," Patrick replies after getting over his embarrassment as he gestures to the messy table in front of them. "Then, when he gets back, we'll choose one together."

"Is it going to be indoor or outdoor?"

"Outdoor. I know how much he loves the outdoors." Patrick quips a grin at his future in-laws. Before any of them can say a word, Amy runs towards him and begins tugging him up. "C'mon, Uncle Tricky! Mommy and Daddy said I can go to the park!"

"I wanna go too!" Charlie, her seven years old brother, cries out.

"Okay, okay," Patrick laughs as he scoops Amy up, holding her in his arm. Charlie quickly makes way to his side and grabs his free hand.

"Kids," Grace tuts at the two children. "We're trying to help with your Uncle Tricky's wedding here."

"Nah, let Patrick have 'em for a while. At least we can get some quiet time." Brendon's brother laughs as he plops down where Patrick sat previously. Patrick shakes his head and smiles. "It's okay. I don't mind watching these two."

"Wedding?" Amy grins, her brown eyes lighting up in excitement. Patrick can't get over just how much Brendon and his family, niece and nephew included, look so alike with one another. Even the sound of their laughter are almost similar. The Urie genes must be strong.

"I get to be the flower girl, right, Uncle Tricky?"

"I thought we already established that from the beginning." Patrick teases her.

"What about me?" Charlie whines as he wrings Patrick's hand, trying to get his attention. "I wanna walk too, but I don't wanna be the flower girl. Or boy."

"Then you can be the ring bearer. I'm sure your Uncle Brenny would like that." Patrick assures him, beaming at the boy's excited grin. "Awesome!"

Just then, the doorbell starts to ring. Their dog, Bogart - _"Seriously, Bren, why 'Bogart'?" "I think the question here, babe, is why_ not _'Bogart'?"_  - dashes to the door and starts barking. Patrick shakes his head once again before heading in the same direction, letting go of Charlie's hand briefly to open the door.

"Bogart, hey. Down, boy." Patrick says in a commanding voice. When the dog stops barking, Patrick finally looks up.

His stomach drops at the presence of several men in uniform at his porch. Just a glance at their somber expression makes his heart stop, and suddenly he can't breathe. His arm falls slowly to his side, and Amy lands gracefully on her feet, clutching Patrick's hand tight like a lifeline, just like her brother.

"Mr Stumph? The Secretary of the Army regrets to inform you that Brendon Boyd Urie was killed in action yesterday-"

-

_December_

Brendon's parents had decided to request for military funeral honours. Patrick and everyone agreed; Brendon deserved nothing less.

Patrick glances from the corner of his eyes, spotting a familiar face in the far back of the small crowd.

_Ryan Ross._

He knows that Brendon had a history with Ryan, but he rarely talked about the latter. Even if he did, he'd change the subject right away. But Patrick knows enough. He's an observant person, after all.

He's just grateful that despite the bad blood between Brendon and Ryan, Ryan still takes time out of his schedule to come that day- which, come to think of it, Patrick figures Spencer must've been the one to tell Ryan about it.

He returns his gaze back to the front where the honour guard is giving speech, but he keeps his eyes locked on his shoes. He can't bring himself to look around him.

Everyone dressed clad in black with their heads all bowed down, the trees bare, the sky grey.

Everything's depressing. _How fitting._ At least he's not the only one mourning. Mother Nature's also mourning.

They begin to lower the coffin down to the ground. Patrick had a glimpse of Brendon earlier. He didn't look like he was dead. He looked like he was sleeping instead.

Maybe Brendon _isn't_ dead.

Maybe this is just some elaborate prank Brendon got everyone in to surprise him.

Hope fills his chest as they lower the coffin.

In a few seconds, Brendon will pop out of the coffin with that stupid grin stretching his face wide, yelling _"Surprise! You should've seen the look on your face!"_

They get the shovels out and start to bury the coffin, filling the hole with earth.

_Any second now…_

His hands are clenched into fists by his side, waiting for Brendon to come out.

_Come on, Brendon. Just jump out already._

Seconds turn to minutes, and soon, Brendon's completely buried.

Patrick bites his lower lip, praying that everything's just a nightmare and hoping that the pain can wake him up from it.

The officials have left, and his friends and family - including Brendon's family - all give him sympathetic pats on the back before they, too, leave. He barely hears Charlie and Amy's distressed cries for him, barely hears his mother's offer to stay with him, because all he can hear is the thumping of his own heart.

He walks closer to the freshly buried grave with the white headstone.

_Brendon B. Urie_

His legs finally give out under his weight, and he drops to his knees, hot tears falling from his eyes continuously. At that moment, reality finally crashes down on him.

Brendon's really gone.

-

_January_

"You need to eat something, sweetie." Patricia's soft voice cuts through the silence in the atmosphere. "You haven't eaten in days."

Patrick lies curled in his bed, the same bed he shared with Brendon, and shakes his head slowly, staring into nothing.

"Fine. But you're eating tomorrow," she continues, her tone has a slight motherly stern in it. She lulls Patrick to sleep by running her fingers through his hair- a gesture known to calm her children down whenever they're feeling sad.

When Patrick falls asleep that night, he dreams of Brendon. He dreams of how Brendon would always wake him up by shaking the bed or tickling him or peppering his face with light kisses. He dreams of how Brendon would complain that they had to clean the house because their parents were coming. He dreams of how Brendon would make a disgusted groan for touching wet food in the sink, but laugh merrily when they engaged in a food fight.

He dreams of how they would sing each other lullabies when the other has trouble falling asleep. He dreams of how they would exchange whispers of _'I love you'_ s when they have nothing better to do. He dreams of how they would never leave the bed until both of them are fully awake.

Patrick wakes up the next morning feeling blissful. He rolls over on his side and smiles, snuggling closer to the non-existent body heat. "Morning, Bren."

His eyes snap open, and he's met with an empty space. His lip quivers, and tears start to pool in his eyes as he curls into himself even more, crying silently into the depressing air.

Patricia stands on the other side of the door, holding back her own tears as she listens to the sound of her son sobbing.

-

_February_

Patrick knows he can't avoid his work forever. The boss is kind enough to give him unpaid leave as soon as he found out about Brendon's death. And although Patrick still wants to mope in the comfort of his bed, he doesn't want to take advantage of his boss's offer. Two months is enough.

That's why he's been dreading the whole drive to the studio. He has a feeling that as soon as he steps into the building, people will swarm him, asking him questions that he has to lie about the answers.

 _"Are you okay?"_ No, he's not okay.

 _"How are you feeling?"_  Down in the dumps.

 _"Do you want to talk?"_ No, he doesn't want to talk.

He heads straight for Room 2B - the room he's in charge of - and after a brief talk with the artist, they get straight to work. The recording part only finishes four hours later, then Patrick keeps himself busy by mixing the tracks.

Anything to keep his mind off of his late fiance.

"Knock knock."

Patrick looks from over his shoulder and nods in greeting when he sees Dallon by the door, smiling. The taller man shuffles into the room, sitting next to Patrick and watching him work.

Next to Patrick and Brendon's family, Dallon was the third most affected by Brendon's death. It's not a surprise, seeing that they're close friends- _"And best-est! Dallon's my best-est friend." "Ew. Maybe just, like, your okay-est friend. I'm your okay-est friend."_

Brendon and Dallon have always had quite a friendship between them.

And if it weren't for Dallon, he and Brendon probably wouldn't have met each other.

"They say talking helps." Dallon says, a soft smile on his face. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He knows Dallon has a nice intention, so he's not going to ignore him like he does to their co-workers, but he just can't talk about it. Even just _thinking_ of Brendon can get him on the verge of a breakdown.

He shakes his head, keeping his eyes on the workstation. "I'm fine, Dallon."

"Okay. But if you feel like talking, just come to me, alright?"

"Alright." He mumbles from his seat. He can sense Dallon's hurt and hesitation, and pretends to focus on his work.

"Oh. Alright. I'll just get back to work, then."

"Alright."

-

_March_

"Come on, Patrick! There's a party at a club downtown!" Joe grins as he enters the house bouncing on his feet, Andy following reluctantly behind. Patrick frowns, his face contorts in displeasure, and shakes his head. "No, thanks. I'm good."

He returns back to what he was previously doing- watching a marathon of a series he can't remember the name to.

"I'm serious, Patrick. You've been cooped up in this house for months. You need to get out there." Joe insists, tugging Patrick up.

"I said no." Patrick replies simply and snatches his hand away from Joe, returning his attention to the TV screen.

"Patrick." Joe frowns, looking equal part annoyed and equal part disappointed. "When was the last time you went out?"

"Yesterday. To work. Dallon can vouch for me."

"Let me rephrase my question. When was the last time you went out _with your friends_?"

Patrick keeps quiet, getting more and more irritated by Joe's insistence on going to a _party_ to _some club._

"See? Now get your ass up, put on your best clothes, and let's go."

"I don't want to go out, Trohman." Patrick grits the words out, keeping his anger in check.

"But-"

"That's enough, Joe." Andy finally interrupts, sensing a hostile atmosphere that's about to come from the two men. "If Patrick doesn't want to go, then he doesn't want to go. Don't force him."

"He needs to get out some time, Andy!" Joe, never the person to give up, only huffs at Andy's words. He stomps forward and yanks Patrick up from the couch he's been lying on. And that's the last straw for Patrick as his anger takes over him.

"What the hell is your problem?! I just said I don't want to go! Is English too hard for you to understand?! No means no, Trohman! I'm not going to some shady club with overpriced alcohol just to wake up the next morning feeling shittier than I already do!"

When he's done, he spins on his heels and marches to his bedroom, slamming the door so hard the sound echoes throughout the house. His body is still thrumming with anger, so he slides under the sheets, and in an instant, his body cools down.

The same effect he always felt when Brendon hugged him whenever he's feeling angry.

He closes his eyes and lets himself be consumed with the soothing feeling, the previous event with Joe totally forgotten as he falls asleep.

-

_April_

April is supposed to be a joyful month for Patrick. For _both_ Patrick _and Brendon._ That's the month when they first met. That's the month when they started dating. That's the month when they were both born.

That's the month when they're supposed to get married.

In the darkness of the bedroom, Patrick curls on the bed, ignoring the occasional buzzing from his phone on the nightstand. He doesn't have to check his phone to know that his friends and family are texting and calling him, checking up on him while wishing him Happy Birthday.

He hasn't seen anyone the entire month. Hasn't contacted anyone, either.

He couldn't bring himself to get out of the room, much less the house. April used to be filled with happy memories, but now they're turned into painful ones.

It pains him to remember the moment they first laid their eyes on each other.

It pains him to remember the moment they first went out on a date with each other.

It pains him to remember the moment they first celebrated each other's birthday.

It pains him to remember every single memories of Brendon that happened in that certain month every year.

It pains him to remember Brendon.

_It pains him._

He pulls the cover over his head as his phone buzzes once again with incoming call, and lets it go to voicemail. He never listens to them, though. Most of them are about the same thing: _"How are you?" "How are you holding up?" "I'm sorry about what happened. Call me if there's anything I can do to help."_

He's tired of listening to the same messages again and again. None of them can change the past.

None of them can bring Brendon back.

When his phone finally stops buzzing, he reaches out from under the cover and checks the time, finding it to be already a quarter past 3.

Just 3 more days until April is over.

_"April is our month, babe. No matter what."_

He places the phone on the bed, screen down, and sits up, bringing his legs over the edge. He trudges his way to the bathroom, avoiding to look himself in the mirror, because he knows how terrible he looks, and cleans himself up. He washes off the sweat and the grime from his skin and hair with his usual brand of soap and shampoo, brushes his teeth and shaves.

He puts on a clean pair of skinny jeans and a button-up for this occasion. He finishes off his look with Brendon's leather jacket and heads downstairs, grabbing his keys.

The road is familiar to Patrick. He can remember the direction like the back of his hand. He continues to drive in silence, not even bothering to turn on the radio. The only sound accompanying him in his journey is the humming of the engine.

When he arrives at the intended destination, he lets out a sigh of relief at the lack of familiar cars. It's not that he hates his friends or anything, he just doesn't want to see anyone at the moment.

After parking his car, he navigates himself to a particular spot across the green field. He sits down on the grass, gazing at the headstone in front of him.

_Brendon B. Urie_

"Happy belated birthday, Bren. Sorry for the late wish," he whispers into the gentle breeze, voice cracking from the lack of use and the tightness in his throat. "Happy belated anniversary to us."

He pulls his knees up, hugging them to his chest and resting his forehead on his knees. Tears have started to form on the corner of his eyes, but he ignores them as they slide down his cheeks. "This is the worst birthday ever, Bren…"

-

_May_

"You're alive." Is the first thing that Andy says when Patrick opens his door.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Patrick stares at his friend weirdly before ushering him inside the house. When they're seated in the living room, he raises an eyebrow. "Why are you here, Andy?"

"We're worried about you," Andy begins, his voice laced with concern. "You were silent for a month, Patrick. You wouldn't open the door, you wouldn't answer our calls or texts. We thought something happened to you."

"Nothing happened, alright? You don't have to worry about me. I can take care of myself." His tone comes out a little harsh, but knowing Andy, he doesn't take it to heart.

"Alright…" Andy replies, slightly dubious. He stands up and pats Patrick on the shoulder. "Well, I'm here for you if you need anything. We're all here for you. Just call us, okay? And we'll be there."

Patrick casts his gaze downwards, hiding the anger in his eyes. They're all lies. He lost count of how many people utter those words to him in an attempt to look and sound like they care. "Yeah, sure."

"I've got to go. I need to get back to work." Andy sighs as he looks at his watch. "But I mean it, Patrick. Call us if you need anything."

Patrick doesn't reply him. He waits until Andy's gone and the front door closes, and then flings the remote across the room, creating a crack in the wall from where it was hit.

His chest heaves in fury, jaws clenched. _If they meant what they said, then why do they always leave as soon as they say it?_

-

_June_

" _'You're always with me.'_  That's what you always said to me." Patrick begins, ignoring the burn at the back of his eyelids as he fixes his gaze on Brendon's name carved on the headstone. "That's what kept you alive when you're away. That's what kept you strong all this time. Because I'm with you."

He pauses, sniffing, and takes a shaky breath. "When you're gone, you took everything with you. You took every part of me with you… I- I don't-"

He cuts himself off with a choked sob. "I don't know what to do now. I don't know what to feel. I feel empty. Damnit, Bren, _I am empty._ "

As he fights the sobs down, a warm breeze surrounds him, and he pretends that Brendon's there with him, in flesh and bones, hugging and comforting him.

"I know you said that I need to prepare myself in case this happened, but it's hard." He rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm, taking his time to collect himself. "Imagining and experiencing are two different things, Bren."

"Nobody is prepared for the second one."

-

_July_

He's spending the Fourth of July with the Uries, since they insist on him celebrating with them. He's expecting the dinner to be awkward when he arrives, but it turns out that everyone still treats him the same.

Amy and Charlie come running up to him, tackling him into a hug. Patrick can't help the slight chuckle that escapes him as he heaves Amy up in his arm and ruffles Charlie's hair.

"We miss you, Uncle Tricky." Charlie whines, throwing his arms around Patrick's waist as he hugs the taller man once again.

"At least let your Uncle Tricky grab something to drink before you attack him."

Patrick looks to the source of the voice and see Brendon's brother, grinning. "Hey, Gordon."

Gordon nods back and gives him a hug before handing him a drink. "Patrick. Long time no see."

"Yeah. Sorry. Job's piling." Patrick smiles sheepishly, but he knows that Gordon knows the real reason why they haven't been seeing or talking to each other. Almost everyone in Patrick's circle knows why he doesn't contact anyone.

_He hasn't moved on yet._

"Well, I'm just glad you're here. Dad's by the barbecue stove, and Mom's…" he pauses as he looks around the vicinity, frowning when he doesn't see the matriarch. "…somewhere. Just have fun, alright?"

Patrick smiles at him and nods. "Of course."

"Come on, Uncle Tricky. Grandpa makes the best barbecue!" Charlie drags him by his jacket to the direction of Boyd, and he can see the older man's face brighten when he sees him.

"Patrick! You're here!" Boyd greets him, slinging an arm across Patrick's shoulder and pulling him into a quick hug. "The meat should be done in a minute or two. Just hang around for a while. I'll let you know when they're done."

And before Patrick can have a light conversation with him, Charlie has already pulled him away to a quiet spot where there's a small playground set. "Play with us, Uncle Tricky!"

The sheer happiness radiated from the kids makes Patrick's heart flutter. They remind him of Brendon, almost. His chest aches as he drowns in the memories of the young, dark-haired man. It doesn't help the fact that they share similar features as well.

He plays with the kids, pushing them on the swing set and chasing them around the slide, in an attempt to mask his sadness. He's mastered the art of faking a smile pretty well over the months, but there's always a possibility that someone can look through it.

"Patrick," Grace smiles as she walks up to him. "Good to see you. I'm glad you can come."

"Thank you for inviting me," Patrick smiles back, hugging her before Amy tries to get him to play with them again.

"Have you met anyone new yet?" Grace asks quietly. Patrick tears his attention away from Amy to look at Grace, sighing. "No. It doesn't feel right."

Silence settles between them, until Grace gestures for the kids to play somewhere else. There's no doubt that Grace wants to talk privately with him, and he can only give the children an apologetic smile before they let go of him reluctantly, hanging around by their parents.

Once they're alone, Grace opens her mouth, eyes filled with concern. "Patrick, it's okay if you want to start looking for someone else. We just want to see you happy again."

Patrick fiddles with the sleeve of his - _Brendon's_ \- jacket, not knowing what to reply. Sure, everyone's been asking him the same thing: _"Have you met anyone new yet?" "Are you seeing someone?"_

Even his family had asked him that through an awkward five minutes phone call.

He shakes his head again, hoping that this time, people would drop the question and understand that he _doesn't_ want to find someone new. "I can't do that to him, Grace," Patrick looks at the ring on his finger, twisting it around with his thumb absent-mindedly. "And I can't do that to you guys. He's your son, and I love him."

Dating someone else - falling in love with someone else - makes Patrick feel like he's cheating on Brendon. And Patrick would never do that to him.

Grace is giving him a look of sympathy again, but at least there's a smile on her face. She pulls him into a long hug, surprising Patrick. "I can't ever say this enough, but thank you for loving him, Patrick."

He tears up slightly at her words, and when they pull back, Grace's eyes are glazed with tears. She wipes the tears away from her eyes and places a hand on Patrick's shoulder, giving him a comforting smile. "Just keep this in mind. When you decide to date someone else, you have our support. We just want you to be happy, Patrick. Brendon would want the same thing, too."

Speechless, Patrick can only nod. Grace pats his shoulder before offering him another smile. "Good. Now, come on. Let's grab something to eat. The firework's about to start."

-

_August_

Joe and Andy have somehow managed to convince him to go out with them to the bar for their usual night out, along with Dallon and Spencer.

It's funny how two groups of friends - Patrick, Andy, Joe, and Brendon, Dallon, Spencer - who had never hung out together, became one when Patrick and Brendon became friends with Dallon as their mutual.

Since then, they always hang out together at a bar downtown every week, just to catch up with one another. But after Brendon's death, Patrick hasn't gone out much, and this would be the first time he set his foot into the bar after months of spending his nights moping in the darkness of his house.

They sit at their usual table and their usual seats, making their usual orders. Patrick notices the empty seat between him and Dallon and takes a sip of his beer.

The empty seat which just so happens to be Brendon's seat.

It feels wrong seeing the chair empty. So, he takes off the jacket he's wearing and drapes it on the empty chair next to him.

_Much better._

He tries to focus on the conversation between his friends, but he always gets distracted with something. Something that's missing.

The conversation is missing a certain voice. A particular loudmouth. Brash manner with a dash of inappropriate jokes in between.

Right. Brendon isn't there.

His eyes are narrowed when he hears his friends laugh over something in the conversation. How can they smile and laugh freely when Brendon's gone? Do they have no heart? Do they even think of Brendon as a friend? If they do, then why are they looking so happy? The questions continue to barrel, fueling the fire in him.

Unable to stand it any longer, he gets up from his seat and grabs his jacket. "Sorry, guys. I'm not feeling well. I'll just head home now."

-

_September_

"Hi, Bren. I've missed you." Patrick whispers, fingers grazing the name on the headstone.

"I don't know if anyone's come to visit you, but I hope they do. Things aren't the same without you around. Everyone's moved on so fast, and I don't know how I should feel about it."

He sits cross-legged on the grass and plays with his ring. "I feel mad. Angry. They shouldn't move on that easily."

"But I won't, though." He closes his eyes, breathing in the cool air. "I'll never forget you."

-

_October_

"I'm not going to any party."

Patrick states bluntly when Joe comes strolling into his house that night. Joe has always been a forgiving person, and Patrick never holds grudges against people, so the quarrell they had months ago is now completely water under the bridge.

"But it's Frank's birthday!" Joe tries to persuade him. "And it's Halloween. Dude, who doesn't love Halloween?"

Patrick rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. "Yeah, just tell him I said Happy Birthday and that I'm sick or something. I'm still not going, Trohman."

"Patrick, come-"

 _"Joe."_ Patrick narrows his eyes, warning for Joe to stop before they get into another fight. He loves Joe, really, but sometimes Joe does push his patience to its limits.

Joe squares his shoulders, voice stiff. "You know what? Fine. Go ahead and spend the night all by yourself when you can spend it with your friends who _care about you_."

Patrick glares at him, about to retort with something when Joe speaks again.

"It's almost a year, Patrick. Everyone's already moved on with their lives, even his family. It's time you do the same."

Joe leaves him after that, and when the front door slams shut, his chest flares with anger, teeth gritted.

Screw Joe. He can mourn for however long he wants.

-

_November_

"Can you believe it? It's been a year."

Patrick's hair flutters in the cold breeze before settling into place, leaving it ruffled. He sits on his heels and tightens Brendon's jacket around him.

He continues to sit in silence, gazing at the carved name. It's become some sort of habit for him to visit his late fiance and stay there for hours without saying anything. He finds the silence calming. He can unwind, get away from his life for a while, arrange his thoughts.

It's almost like Brendon never even left.

The light glinting from his ring snaps him out of his reverie, and he smiles at the silver metal band, admiring it. "Even after a year, I still love you."

Then, his heart skips when he finally realizes something about the ring.

It's the only thing that he has of Brendon - other than his clothes - before he went away. A proof that reminds Patrick that all the time spent with Brendon was real.

_A proof that Brendon loves him._

_A proof of their love._

He caresses the ring before looking at Brendon's name, determination burning in his eyes. "Brendon, I promise, no matter what, I'll never remove this ring."

Leaning forward, he splays his hand on the headstone, the ring coming in contact with the _B._ of his name.

"And I'll always love you."

* * *

Patrick sighs as he rubs his temples, feeling a migraine forming.

"If the doctor comes and tells me that my leg is broken, I'm suing you, Smith." Dallon glares at him. He's currently sitting up on a bed, his injured leg propped up with a pillow.

"It's not my fault you have the grace of a fucking giraffe. If you know how to climb, then you should know how to get down _safely._ " Spencer retorts, slapping Dallon's injured leg, receiving a loud yelp in return.

"Ass. How am I supposed to walk if I have a broken leg?"

"Crawl or roll or whatever."

"I'm not a baby."

"You already act like one, though."

Patrick turns around and reads the poster on the wall, hiding his smile from the other two. Their conversation is something what Brendon would say to either of them. Sarcastic remarks, random insults and everything in-between are what define Brendon perfectly when he's with his friends.

But when he's with Patrick, it's like he's a totally different person. Brendon's secret side that only Patrick has the privilege to see.

He turns back around when a phone rings in the room. Spencer quickly takes out his phone and answers, wincing as he sees the name. "Okay, okay. I know I'm late for our date- It's not- I wouldn't- It's Dallon- Yeah. Uh huh. Okay. I'm coming now."

Spencer sighs and looks at Patrick and Dallon. "I gotta go now. Linda sounds pretty mad."

Dallon makes a whipping sound and grins when Spencer shoots him a death glare. "This isn't over yet, Weekes."

Patrick waves his hand as Spencer leaves and turns to Dallon. "Does it still hurt?"

"Yes." Dallon groans, grabbing another pillow from behind him and placing it in his lap. "Where's the damn doctor-"

"Language, man."

A doctor strolls into the room with a few papers in his hands, grinning. Patrick notes that the doctor must have bleached his hair, because he can see the slight dark roots underneath.

The doctor places the x-ray image against the screen and switches on the light, pointing to where the problem is. "So, Mr Weekes, your leg is indeed broken. But it's nothing major. We'll just get you into a cast for a month or two, and you'll be as good as new."

Dallon sighs in relief, leaning against the wall behind him. "That's great to hear."

"But you still need to stay here for a night so we can make sure everything's fine before you leave," the doctor continues.

"That's okay. As long as it's nothing serious." Dallon shrugs.

"Well, you're my last patient for the day," the doctor grins, stretching his arms above his head. "I'll get the nurse to get you your cast, then we're done. I'll check on you again tomorrow."

The doctor exits the room, presumably to find a nurse. Patrick walks over to Dallon and pats his shoulder. "At least you don't have to crawl. A crutch is easy to use, I think."

Dallon laughs and pulls Patrick into a hug. "Thanks, man. You can go home if you want to. Like the doctor said, I'm staying here for the night."

Patrick smiles and pats him once again. "Alright. See you tomorrow. Take care."

It's only when he reaches the lobby that he realizes that he came with Spencer and Dallon, or more specifically, with _Spencer's car._ He sighs and takes out his phone, about to call a cab when his phone runs out of battery.

"Just my luck." Patrick mutters to himself. He sits down on an empty chair and crosses his arms, thinking of his next possible option to get home.

"Hey, you're Mr Weekes' friend, aren't you?"

Patrick looks up at the voice and is surprised when he sees the bleached-haired doctor standing in front of him, minus his white coat. "Um. Yeah."

"What are you still doing here?" The doctor asks.

"I came with a friend, but he'd already left. And my phone ran out of battery." Patrick answers, carding his fingers through his hair in frustration.

"Well, let me send you home."

The offer slips so easily from the doctor's mouth that Patrick is slightly taken aback by it. "Really?"

"Why not? I like helping people." The doctor shoots him a blinding grin. "It's part of a reason why I like being a doctor."

 _He sounds nice enough,_ Patrick thinks. But, if he were in the doctor's shoes, he probably would've done the same thing, too.

"Sure." He stands up and walks next to the doctor, following him to his car.

"So, what's your name?"

"Patrick Stumph. But you can call me Patrick," he replies, then sneaks a glance at the man next to him. "What's yours?"

The doctor looks at him and smiles. "Wentz. Pete Wentz."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave some comments!


	2. Chapter 2

Patrick settles into the passenger seat quietly as he tells his address to Pete. Pete strikes up a conversation as soon as he starts his car. Patrick prefers if the ride is silent, but he's the passenger here, and he doesn't want to come across rude, so he tries to keep up with Pete and their conversation.

"Oh, you're married?" Pete suddenly asks, changing their topic.

Patrick gazes at his ring, throat tightening at the way sunlight reflects off from it, and brushes his thumb over the ring gently. No one has ever asked him about the ring before. Then again, it's probably because he has never bothered talking to people outside his circle.

"Engaged," he answers quietly, still caressing the ring.

"Oh, man. I remember when I was engaged. It was _hectic_ , man. The preparations were draining, but it's worth it when you finally say your vows-" Pete continues to ramble next to him, talking about his experience before his wedding, and Patrick nods occasionally to show that he's listening.

But inside, though, he tries to keep himself from breaking down in a car with a stranger. He can't help imagining how his life would turn out if Brendon hadn't died. They would go through all the options together, finding the perfect spot for their wedding down to the food served after the ceremony.

And when it comes to cake, they might have a slight disagreement. Brendon had always liked it sweet, but Patrick likes it citrus-y. They would have to come to a compromise, and instead of finding a flavour that has a little bit of both, Brendon would suggest a huge three-tiered cake, half of it sweet, the other half citrus-y. _"Why have one when we can have both?"_

Patrick closes his eyes and rubs his temple. It amazes him how surreal his imaginations felt.

"So, how long have you been engaged?"

He subtly wipes the tears away from his eyes and leans back, taking a deep breath to make sure his voice doesn't crack in the middle. "A little over two years."

Pete whistles lowly and looks at him when the traffic light turns red. "That's pretty long."

"Yeah, well," Patrick shrugs, avoiding Pete's questioning gaze. "You're married?"

Pete laughs lightly, and Patrick watches as his fingers drum on the steering wheel. Brendon used to do the same when he's driving. He could never sit still, always needed to be in motion- his fingers, body, hands, legs, head, mouth are always moving. Brendon always had extra energy in him, and the only way to get them out was by constantly moving.

Patrick was, at one point, convinced that Brendon was going to explode if he didn't get the excess energy out.

"I'm actually divorced."

Pete's answer brings him back to reality. Patrick looks at him, expecting a heartbroken look on Pete's face. What he doesn't expect, though, is a look of complete acceptance and contentedness.

"Oh. I'm sorry," Patrick says, wincing at how his words turn out. The two words that he dreads listening to the most are now being said by him. What irony.

"Don't worry about it," Pete shrugs. Patrick now only realizes that they're already nearing his neighbourhood. "We're still on good terms, so that's that."

Patrick hums, silently wondering how exes can remain friends. He brushes it off as his house comes into view, and he unbuckles the seatbelt to point Pete his house. He waits for Pete to stop in front of his house and unlock the door.

"Here's your place," Pete smiles.

"Thanks, doc." Patrick gives him a polite smile, something his mother had taught him since he was a kid, and opens the door to climb out. _"Remember, you can never be too stingy with a smile. It's free, so use as much as you want."_

"Pete."

Patrick tilts his head back to look at the doctor, eyebrows furrowed. "I'm sorry?"

"We're not in the hospital, so just call me Pete." The tanned man cheekily replies, twisting his body sideways with an arm on the steering wheel, looking at him.

"Right," Patrick coughs and gets out of the car. "Thanks, Pete."

"No problem. See you tomorrow, Patrick." Pete gives him one last smile and a wave before driving away, leaving Patrick dumbfounded by the sidewalk.

Why does the doctor look like he's confident that they'll see each other again tomorrow?

It takes him around a minute to figure out the answer. Patrick's jaw hangs open as his mouth forms an 'o' shape in realization.

Right. _Dallon's at the hospital._

He makes his way to the front door and unlocks the door. It makes him feel slightly bad that he forgets about Dallon and his broken leg when he's with Dallon's doctor the entire time.

But, Dallon's a sweetheart, anyway. He won't get mad. What he doesn't know won't kill him.

"Bogart! You hungry, boy? Let's get you something to eat."

-

Patrick arrives at the hospital the next morning early, but at least it's already visiting hours. Just like any other patients whom had spent at least a night in the hospital, he figures Dallon would want to get out as soon as possible.

He stops by the vending machine to get a snack for himself. He hasn't eaten breakfast that morning, fearing that he'd get stuck in traffic trying to get to the hospital.

He inserts some coins and pushes a button, watching as a packet of Twinkie falls into the dispenser. When he bends down to grab it, he notices a blond boy standing behind him, waiting for his turn. "Oh. Sorry."

He grabs the Twinkie and moves away so the boy can buy something. Though, as soon as he walks away, he hears an exasperated cry from the boy. He turns around to see that the boy is pouting in front of the machine, pressing a button repeatedly.

The good samaritan in him convinces him to go to the boy and ask him what's wrong, and that's what he does. "Is something wrong?"

"The machine ate my money," the boy huffs in frustration. "And my dad only gave me the exact amount, so I don't have any money to buy anything else."

Patrick feels pity for the him, so he takes out his wallet. "I'll buy you something. What do you want?"

The boy looks at him in surprise before a wide grin spreads across his face. "Can I have a Snickers? Please?"

Patrick nods and puts in the exact amount into the slot, then punches in the code for the snack. He takes a step back and notices that the boy is watching the entire process in fascination when the vending machine starts to whir.

The whirring stops when a Snickers falls into the dispenser. Satisfied, Patrick walks away to get his friend. He tears open the Twinkie's packaging, and when he takes a bite, he hears footsteps following him from behind. He tilts his head back and sees the boy smiling up at him.

"Is there anything else?" Patrick asks him.

The boy shakes his head. "Thank you for the Snickers!"

"You're welcome."

Patrick turns back around and starts walking, but the boy still continues to follow him. He pauses in his steps, the boy doing the same. They stare at each other for a while, and Patrick's feeling slightly nervous by the situation. He doesn't like dealing with strangers, and he certainly doesn't like maintaining eye contact with strangers.

"My name's Bronx." The boy states merrily. "What's your name?"

Patrick furrows his brows at him. "Where's your parents?"

"Dad's with a patient, and mom's across the country." He replies. "What's your name?"

"Didn't your parents tell you to not talk to strangers?"

Bronx nods. "They did. What's your name?"

"Then, why are you talking to one right now?" Patrick asks him back, ignoring the repeated question by the boy.

"Why did you help one just now?" The boy grins at him. Patrick's face flushes when he realizes he's been one-upped by a kid.

"So, what's your name?" Bronx asks again.

Patrick fumbles with his glasses before answering, still embarrassed. "Oh. Um, Patrick. My name's Patrick."

"Patrick." Bronx says slowly, rolling his name on his tongue. "Patrick. Can I call you Trick?"

"Sure?" Patrick answers, though it comes out like a question instead.

"Awesome! Come on, let's go to the cafeteria!" Bronx grabs his hand and runs to the cafeteria, Patrick having to catch up to him. "H- Hey, slow down. You'll fall if you run."

Bronx pays no attention to him, he continues to drag him until they reach the cafeteria instead. They sit at an empty table by the window and eat in silence.

"What are you doing at the hospital?" Bronx questions him, breaking the silence between them.

Patrick swallows the food in his mouth before answering. "I'm here to take my friend home. He spent the night here."

"Did something happen to him?"

Patrick props his elbow on the table, leaning his head on his fist as a smirk grazes his face, remembering the event that lead to Dallon's downfall- literally. "He fell off of a tree trying to prove that he can climb one."

Bronx makes a wincing sound, nose scrunched up. "That sounds painful. I remember the time when my dad climbed the roof to get my kite down, and he actually suggested a giant umbrella to get down."

"Did it work?" Patrick is, no doubt, interested with the outcome of the boy's story. He's always wondered if one can glide down with an umbrella.

"No," Bronx giggles, taking a few napkins out from the dispenser. "He fell straight down into the bushes, but he didn't break any bones."

Patrick smiles at him and gazes out the window. Brendon had been the same. Impulsive, always getting himself into dangerous situations, never staying still for at least five seconds.

Whenever he finally got Brendon to sit down to relax, he would still be moving. He would either bounce his knees or drum with his fingers- anything that required him to be in motion.

There had been a time when Brendon had too much energy in him that he would literally bounce around the house and climb everywhere before finally passing out on the roof. Patrick had to call Andy's help to get him down, because, let's face it, between him, Joe, Spencer, and Dallon, Andy's the only one strong enough to get a passed out grown-ass man down from the roof.

"Are you okay?"

Patrick turns his head slightly to look at the blond boy sitting across him. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know," Bronx shrugs, taking a bite out of his Snickers. "You look sad. I see it on my Dad's face sometimes, but when I asked him about it, he kept saying he's fine. Like what you're doing right now."

Patrick's shoulders droop at his words. For a seven years old, Bronx seems like a pretty smart kid. His parents must be smart just as well to have a kid this perceptive. He gives him a small smile to show that he's fine.

"It's okay if you're not," Bronx continues as he attempts to fold a napkin into something. An airplane, Patrick assumes. "I don't know why people lie when they're not fine."

Patrick hasn't had a deep conversation in a long time. It refreshes him, opens him up to new perspectives, and he loves the feeling more than life itself. He leans forward to the boy, deciding to humour him. "Maybe because they don't want to burden people with their problems?"

Bronx tears his gaze away from the folded napkin to Patrick, his forehead wrinkled in confusion. "But… isn't that what family is for? Sharing problems?"

"What if their family is far away? Or busy?"

"That's where friends come in." Bronx shrugs nonchalantly and continues to build his airplane. "You're never really alone. There's always people around you. Just call them if you need help. Like, last week, I made a mess in the kitchen trying to make poptarts, and I called dad for help. He helped me clean up, then made me pancakes, even though I _really_ wanted poptarts. But as long as there's food, I wasn't going to complain."

Patrick stares at him in surprise, awed at how easily Bronx comes up with an answer and how innocent the answer is. He closes his mouth and looks back out the window. Of course, Bronx is still a child. He doesn't know how, sometimes, one can really feel as if they're alone. Friends and families get busy dealing with their own problems, and soon, everyone drifts apart from each other.

_In the end, you only have yourself to depend on._

"Dad!"

The sudden exclamation makes Patrick turn his head away from the window. Bronx runs to a man in a white coat and drags him to their table. Patrick flushes when he realizes that the boy's father is the same person who sent him home yesterday. Dallon's doctor. _Pete._

"Dad, this is Trick! He bought me Snickers!" Bronx grins up at his father. Pete's eyes light up with recognition when he sees Patrick, and he smiles in apology at him before turning to his son with a stern look on his face. "B, I gave you the money to buy your own, didn't I? You can't ask other people to buy for you."

Then, he turns back to Patrick. "I'm really sorry about my son. Here, let me pay you back." Just as Pete pulls out his wallet, Patrick politely shakes his head. "No, it's okay. The machine ate his money, well, _your_ money, so I bought him the chocolate."

"No, I insist-"

"It's fine, really-"

"-and you had to babysit my son-"

"-I don't mind, he's been nothing but nice-"

Pete looks hesitant, but he eventually sighs in defeat. "Thank you so much for keeping my son company. Even though I explicitly told him to _stay in my office as soon as he bought a snack._ "

He directs the last sentence to his giggling son, giving him a pointed look. "I'm really sorry, Patrick, again. I had to cover graveyard shift for my friend, and I couldn't leave my son all alone in the house, so I had to bring him to work with me."

"Hey, it's okay," Patrick smiles comfortingly at him before standing up. "Well, I better go get my friend. Bye, Pete."

He leans down and pats Bronx on his shoulder. "Bye, Bronx. I really enjoy our conversation."

Bronx beams at him, grabbing Patrick's hand and tugging him further down. "Can we talk more after this? I like talking to you!"

"I, uh…" Patrick looks up at Pete, silently asking for his help. He's not sure how Pete would take it. His seven years old son wanting to talk to a thirty-one years old stranger? If he were Pete, he'd be extra cautious.

"It's all up to you, man. I don't mind," Pete smiles at him. "We can hang out together sometimes."

"Well…" Patrick trails off, unsure of what to answer. He's content enough with his social circle - _four_ is already a handful, so he doesn't need any more. Besides, meeting new people and making new friends are just not his cup of tea. He realizes he takes too long to answer when Bronx lets out an audible sigh.

"Oh…" Bronx mumbles, eyes downcasted and shoulders drooped. "That's okay…"

Guilt rises in his chest at the boy's dejected expression. Patrick closes his eyes and sigh. Maybe he can make an exception this time. He loves talking to Bronx anyway, so he supposes there's a good side to it. "We'll talk when we see each other, is that okay?"

Bronx's head snaps up to look at him as he nods eagerly, a grin on his face. "Yeah, yeah! That's okay! I'll see you soon, Trick!"

Pete frowns at his son, crossing his arms. "What did I tell you about referring to someone older than you?"

"Sorry, dad," Bronx apologizes, the grin still on his face, and looks back to Patrick. "I'll see you soon, Uncle Trick!"

Uncle Trick. Uncle Tricky.

Uncle Brenny.

_Brendon._

Patrick bites his lip and shakes his head, forcing a smile on his face. "No, it's okay. Just call me Trick. I'd prefer that, actually."

"If you insist," Pete gives him a tired smile and pats his back. "I guess we'll see you when we see you."

"Bye, Trick!" Bronx waves before following his father out. Patrick waits until they're out of sight and proceeds to make his way to Dallon.

It doesn't take him longer than ten minutes to get to Dallon, and when he arrives in Dallon's room, he finds that the door is left ajar. Dallon is trying to use his crutches, his face scrunched in concentration with a hint of frustration.

Patrick knocks on the door twice, catching the taller man's attention. His eyes go wide as Dallon yelps in surprise, his crutches fall with clanking sounds as his arms flail around trying to grip onto something before he finally sprawls on the floor, groaning in pain.

He knows he shouldn't laugh, and he knows he should go over to Dallon and help him up, but after years of being with Brendon, he finds it difficult to keep his composure in this almost too comical situation.

He masks his laugh with a cough and makes a beeline to Dallon, who raises his hand up as a gesture for Patrick to stay where he is. Patrick clamps his mouth shut, obeying his tall friend's silent order.

Dallon heaves himself up by grabbing onto the bed railings, and he uses his free hand to grab his crutches. Once he's finally on his feet, stable and all, he looks to Patrick, who's trying his hardest to not look like he wasn't just about to laugh less than a minute ago, and raises his index finger up.

"One," he begins, his face and voice stern, "we do _not_ talk about this. Ever."

Patrick nods.

Dallon raises his middle finger next. "Two. I do _not_ , as Spencer puts it, have the grace of a fucking giraffe. Is that clear?"

Patrick coughs into his hand. Once. Twice. He opens his mouth and coughs again before finally settling with another nod. He's glad that Dallon doesn't make him answer him verbally, because the only sound that's going to come out of his mouth is either a chortle or a laugh.

He steps aside, making way for the taller man when the latter walks past him, and stands rooted on his spot. He makes a mental calculation on how many steps it would take Dallon to reach the door in an attempt block out the hilarious incident earlier.

_Eleven? Ten?_

"Damn- Fucking hell! Not again!"

Patrick lets out another cough just as Dallon raises his hand once again.

"We don't talk about this, and you don't have the grace of a giraffe. Got it."

-

It's already mid-December, and that can only mean one thing for Patrick.

Grocery shopping day.

His friends find it weird for him to shop for grocery in the middle of the month when most people do it either on the beginning or the ending of a month. Patrick has a solid reason for it, though.

Not many people shop in the middle of the month, so there's a very, _very_ slim chance for him to bump into someone he knows.

He pushes the cart as he strolls along the aisle, searching for his favourite brand of cereal. He stops as soon as he sees the familiar bright-coloured boxes on the shelf. He grabs three boxes of cereal before dumping them into the cart, then, after a moment of consideration, dumps another two before moving to another area.

He mentally goes through the grocery list in his head when a voice interrupts him. "That's quite a lot of cereal you got there."

Patrick looks up and his mouth falls open when he sees Pete smirking at him, his son by his side. "Oh. Hello."

"We meet again, Trick!" Bronx exclaims happily as he bounces on his feet. "Now we can talk again!"

Patrick shifts on his feet. This is one of the few reasons why he dislikes meeting people. Sometimes, his anxiety can get the best of him. "Um, well-"

"No excuses, Trick," Pete quips, a mischievous sparkle glinting in his eyes. "You promised."

"You promised we'd hang out together the next time we see each other," Bronx chimes in with a toothy grin. "So, let's hang out."

Patrick's jaw is still hanging open as he tries to resist the looks the other two give him. But the more he looks at them, the more his wall crumbles. His body sags, and he lets out a defeated sigh. "There's no way I can get out of this, is there?"

The father-son duo look at each other before looking at him, identical grins on their faces. "Nope!"

"Let's finish up our shopping, then we'll go for pizza. How's that sound?" Pete asks him, an expectant look clear on his face.

Bronx sidles up next to Patrick, pulling him down to whisper in his ear. "Say yes. It's either pizza or dad's homemade spaghetti. Trust me, you'd want the pizza."

"Hey, what are you two whispering over there?"

Bronx pulls away with a giggle, sticking his tongue out at his father, and tugs on Patrick's hand that he's holding. "Please?"

Patrick looks between Bronx and Pete, then ruffles the boy's hair and smiles. "Sure, I guess."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave some comments!


	3. Chapter 3

They arrive at a local pizza parlor just 20 minutes away from the grocery store. Patrick, although hesitant and nervous at the thought of having lunch with two strangers, no, _acquaintances_ , finds himself a little bit proud that he actually meets new people and befriends them.

He's going to be 30 bucks richer, and Joe's going to be 30 bucks poorer.

He mutters a quiet _'Thanks'_ when Pete holds the door open for him with a grin on his face. Bronx skips his way in, grabbing Patrick's hand and leading him to where Patrick assumes is their regular table.

"Here. Sit next to me, Trick." Bronx beams and slides into the booth, tugging Patrick down next to him. Patrick smiles at the boy's enthusiasm, and he opens the menu that a waitress gives him and Pete.

"See anything you want?" Pete asks.

Patrick skims through the menu, not sure of what to order. He hasn't been into the place before, so he doesn't know how the food tastes like. "I guess I'll just have the chicken salad."

He hands the menu to Bronx and looks up, furrowing his brows in confusion when Pete gapes at him. "What?"

"We're in a pizza parlor, Trick." Bronx says slowly, breaking the silence between them. Patrick notices that Bronx has the same expression as his father. "I notice that."

"So why are you ordering _salad_ in a _pizza_ parlor?" Pete asks, tone disbelieving. "This is outrageous. I can't believe I invited you for lunch with us."

"Hey." Patrick protests, just on the side of pouting, and fiddles with the zipper of his jacket. "What's wrong with salad?"

Bronx exchanges a glance with his father, nodding, then turns to Patrick. "Don't worry, Trick. We'll save you from the evil clutches of salad from now on. You're safe with us!"

Patrick almost laughs at how serious Bronx looks and sounds, but he just chuckles instead. "I take it you two don't eat your vegetables, then."

"Vegetables are _evil_ ," Bronx whispers to him as Pete rattles of their orders to a waitress. "Wait, are you okay with pepperoni?"

"Yeah, sure." Patrick nods. He's not a picky eater anyway, so he's fine with whatever Pete orders for them.

"Great." Pete grins before turning back to the waitress. "So we'll have a large pepperoni pizza, two barbecue wings, and… coke?" He looks questioningly to Patrick, to which he nods in return. "Yeah, three cokes. Anything else?"

Patrick shakes his head, followed by Bronx, and Pete turns to smile at the waitress. "That's all. Thank you."

"Don't tell your mom that I'm letting you drink coke." Pete grins at Bronx, a finger placed on his lips. Bronx nods eagerly. "It's our secret!"

Patrick props his elbow on the table and rests his head on his palm, amused. "Keeping secrets now, are we?"

Pete looks at him, nose scrunched as he shakes his head in disbelief. "Are you kidding me? She'll have my head off if she found out that I let Bronx had so much as a drop of coke or any other soda."

"Mom says car-bo-na-ted drinks are bad." Bronx pouts and leans back in his seat, kicking his legs back and forth. "But it tastes good, though. I like 'em."

"They're bad if you drink them a lot," Patrick shrugs, watching Bronx folds his napkin. He turns to Pete and finds that he's doing the same thing. A smile forms on his face. _Like father, like son._ "And you can get cavity from them, too."

Bronx lets out a horrified and dramatic gasp. "Even if I brush my teeth after?"

Patrick mocks being serious, and from the corner of his eyes, he sees Pete smirking at him. "Brushing your teeth is, like, half the protection. You're still exposed, Bronx."

"Where do I get the other half of the protection?" Bronx whines as he looks up at him, napkin set aside and forgotten momentarily.

"Salad."

Pete bursts into laughter across him as Bronx continues to whine about not wanting to eat vegetables and get cavities. Patrick smiles at the sight. For once, he's actually glad that he accepted someone's invitation- be it for breakfast, lunch, dinner, or just plain hanging out.

Their food and drinks arrive a few minutes later, and when Patrick takes a slice of pizza out, he can feel the heavy gaze from Pete and Bronx on him. He looks at them questioningly. "What?"

"Nothing," Pete shakes his head. "We just want to see your reaction after taking your first bite."

Patrick scoffs lightly at his answer, then starts to eat the pizza. He doesn't register anything for the first two seconds, but when he finally does, he moans in delight, eyes widened in surprise. "Wow."

"Wow." Pete echoes with a grin. "I know, right? And to think you're about to choose salad over this baby."

They continue to talk as they eat, joking around and laughing, mostly between Pete and Bronx. Patrick joins in sometimes - he's not at that level of friendship with them yet that he feels comfortable talking freely - but he does enjoy their company, and that's saying something.

"Oh, yeah. Christmas is coming soon. Do you have any plans?" Pete looks at him as he wipes his mouth with a napkin.

Patrick shrugs. He's not really into festivities. He prefers spending the day cuddling on the couch watching old, classic movies rather than having a bunch of people over, drinking and talking and _socializing_. "Not really, I guess."

"We can have pizza party on Christmas eve!" Bronx cheers, bouncing in his seat, excitement radiated from him. "Come join us, Trick! We can make pizza together and watch movies and play games!"

"That's a great idea!" Pete beams, his whole face brighten up at his son's idea. "If you have nothing planned, you can join us. We can celebrate Christmas together."

Patrick bites his lip, looking down on his lap. He already knows what his answer is going to be as soon as Bronx invites him. He just can't celebrate it with anyone else.

"Trick, are you okay?"

He puts on a smile while ignoring the slight tightness in his throat. "Yeah, I'm okay."

"Are you planning to spend it with someone else?" Bronx asks, his eyes wide with curiosity.

"Why do you ask that?" Patrick asks back.

"You're playing with your ring." Bronx shrugs as he keeps his gaze locked onto the metal band. "So I just assumed…"

"Oh, that's right. I remember you saying that you're engaged." Pete chimes in, a small smile decorating his face. "You can invite her if you want to. The more the merrier."

 _Her._ Patrick just keeps quiet and takes a sip of his drink. He doesn't bother correcting the pronouns, since he doesn't know how the two will take it once they found out that he's engaged to a guy. He takes a moment to compose himself before giving his answer.

"I'll think about it."

-

They exchange phone numbers before they part ways from each other. It's been a long day for Patrick. He certainly didn't expect to bump into Pete and Bronx at the store and get invited to lunch with them. It took quite a toll on him, so he's thankful that he's inside the comfort of his own home. _Peace and solitude at last._

"Hey, where have you been?"

Patrick inwardly groans at the two guests - _intruders_ , he corrects himself - who are seated on his couch, watching a random show on his television. "Question is, what are you doing in my house?"

He makes his way to the kitchen, thanking Andy when he moves to help carry some of the grocery bags.

"Joe's bored. I'm just here to make sure he's not destroying your place." Andy shrugs as he places the bags on the island.

Joe snorts, following them into the kitchen. "Shut up, Hurley. You're here because you love spending time with me."

As they continue to bicker back and forth, Patrick feels a vibration in his pocket. He fishes his phone out and smiles as he reads the message from Pete. Before he gets to type in a reply, Joe snatches his phone and keeps it out of Patrick's reach.

"Wha- Joe! Get back here!"

Joe, however, ignores him and dashes to the other side of the island. "What were you smiling about?"

Patrick rolls his eyes at his friend and decides to just leave him be and begin to sort out his groceries.

"'I had a great time at lunch today'," Joe starts reading the text Pete sent him. "'I'd love to do it again, only if you promise not to order salad at a pizza parlor.' Did you really order salad? What the fuck, Patrick?"

"What's wrong with salad?" Andy frowns, hitting Joe at the back of his head. "Ow! Okay, you know what? From now on, I'll be picking the place where we're eating the next time we hang out. You guys have tasteless buds." Joe retorts as he pushes Andy away and hops onto the island, continuing reading the message where he left off previously.

"'Bronx says hi. He can't wait to see you again.'" Joe places the phone down next to him and quirks an eyebrow at him. Patrick blatantly ignores the look Joe gives him as he puts his groceries into the fridge.

"So, you went on a date-"

"I wasn't on a date, Trohman."

"-and you had pizza and salad with this Pete guy-"

"I did not have salad."

"-and apparently this Bronx dude joined on your date-"

"This Bronx _dude_ is seven years old."

"Wait, what?" Two different voices speak up, and Patrick pinches the bridge of his nose, preparing for the upcoming questions from his two friends. He turns around and walks to the sink, washing his hands. "Bronx is his son."

"Pete has a son?"

"He's married?"

"You went on a date with a married guy?"

"Was his wife there too?"

"Guys." Patrick stops them before he gets a headache from the onslaught of questions, crossing his arms. When he's sure that Joe and Andy are not going to say anything else, he opens his mouth to answer. "Yes, he has a son. No, he's divorced. No, I was _not_ on a date. No, his wife's not there. Now, can we please drop this matter and stop making it a big deal?"

Joe shakes his head, his afro bouncing around. "Dude, no way. We're just excited that you made a new friend. Two new friends, I guess. If you count the seven year old dude."

Andy shakes his head at Joe, muttering something under his breath, and Patrick smiles at his friends. He knows they mean well, considering that he's pretty much closed himself off to everyone since a year ago. And, truth be told, Patrick's a little excited that he made new friends as well.

"Hey, that reminds me. You owe me 30 bucks, Trohman."

-

_"Babe, can you believe it? It's already Christmas eve." Brendon nuzzled against him, arms wrapped tight around his waist. Patrick laughed as he leaned into Brendon, trying to get more body warmth. "You've been saying that the whole day, Bren."_

_"I'm not sorry for being excited." Brendon playfully bit him on the shoulder, fingers slipping under his shirt and pressing into his sides. Patrick let out a squeal, pushing Brendon away while trying not to laugh, but failing miserably as Brendon continued to tickle him. "That tickles! Get off, Bren!"_

_"Never," Brendon crowed in glee. "I'll make you laugh until the clock strikes midnight."_

_When he finally caught his breath, he looked up at Brendon, eyes glinting in amusement. "Any particular reason for that?"_

_Brendon grinned, leaning down to give him a quick kiss. "If we're happy, like so fucking happy, then the Grinch will be too scared to come during Christmas. Then, Christmas won't be ruined."_

_Patrick laughed at his answer, cheeks rosy red, and kissed the corner of his lips before shifting to snuggle up next to him. "You don't even need to do anything, Bren. You already made me happy by just being here."_

_The dark-haired man pulled him close that Patrick could hear his heartbeat in his chest. He closed his eyes, enjoying the presence surrounding him._

_"I love you, Patrick," Brendon murmured softly. "I'm sorry for not being here more often."_

_Patrick tilted his head up, looking into Brendon's brown eyes. He looked pensive, a look that didn't suit the younger man at all. "Bren, hey, it's okay. It's not your fault. Besides, you made up for it when you're back."_

_Brendon smiled at him, hand reaching down to Patrick's, and laced their fingers together before bringing them up to kiss his knuckles. "I love you."_

_Patrick returned his smile and pressed their foreheads together. "I love you too, Brendon."_

Patrick curls into himself and squeezes his eyes shut as a tear slips down his face, the sound of quiet sobbing echoing in the room.

_I miss you, Brendon._

-

"Merry Christmas, Bren."

Patrick sits on his heels, gazing at carved name on the headstone. "I, uh, I think I made new friends. I met him at the hospital when Dallon broke his leg. He drove me home when I couldn't. Then, the next day, I met his son." Patrick smiles as the image of the blond kid pouting in front of a vending machine enters his mind.

"They're really nice, Bren. You'd get along well with the kid, I'm sure of it. He's pretty bright for his own age, and he looks like he has a pretty good relationship with his father."

"They asked me about you, but they didn't know that you're…" Patrick's voice trails off, not wanting to say the words _'gone'_ or _'dead'_ or something along those lines. It's still difficult for him to talk about it.

He lets out a small sigh and looks up at the sky. "They invited me to celebrate Christmas with them, but I didn't go. I couldn't," he whispers out the last word, shifting his gaze back to the headstone.

"We promised that we'd celebrate Christmas together every year, and I intend to do just that. I'm sorry I didn't come to visit you last Christmas." His throat starts to ache, and he takes his time to continue. "I hope you're not angry about it. I still couldn't believe that you…"

He lets out a small sniffle and wipes his nose. "To be honest, I still can't believe all this. You're probably still out there somewhere. Fighting. Sleeping. Breathing. Living. Alive."

A shaky breath escapes him, and he bites his lip. He can't bring himself to talk without choking on tears the second he opens his mouth. As he tries to gather himself, a song comes into his mind. One that he's heard years ago and reminded him of Brendon.

_Hello world, hope you're listening_  
_Forgive me if I’m young for speaking out of turn_  
_There’s someone I’ve been missing_  
_I think that they could be the better half of me_

_They’re in the wrong place trying to make it right_  
_But I’m tired of justifying_  
_So I say to you…_

"Come home," Patrick chokes out, tears welling in his eyes. "Please come home, Brendon. Please tell me you're still alive. I need you here."

"Please don't leave me…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave some comments!


	4. Chapter 4

Patrick stands in his line as he plays with his phone, waiting to order his usual morning dose of caffeine to kick-start his day before he gets to work.

"Hey, you didn't come yesterday."

Patrick looks up from his phone, and his jaw drops slightly when he sees Pete, who's dressed up in a pair of dark grey slacks, a soft blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a dark tie, and a matching pair of shoes with a cup of coffee in his hands. Overall, Pete looks _really_ clean.

 _And hot_ , his mind supplies, but Patrick quickly brushes it away.

"Are you heading to work or home?" Patrick asks him. He knows that doctors have crazy shifts, but the last time he saw Pete in this kind of attire, Pete looked exactly like this, and he'd already finished with his shift and was about to head home. There's no way of knowing whether he's going to work or home.

"Work," Pete grins as he points to his coffee. Then, the grin diminishes to a worried frown. "You didn't come yesterday. Did something happen?"

 _'No, nothing happened. I just didn't want to go.'_ is what Patrick wants to say. "Sorry. I wasn't feeling well. I should've texted you about it."

Pete's worried features change into a relieved one, and the smile is back on his face. "No, it's okay. Your health is more important. Are you feeling any better now?"

"Yeah." Patrick smiles, glad that Pete buys the lie. "Slept it all away."

"Oh, that reminds me." Pete says suddenly. "Come celebrate a pre-New Years with us? Bronx is going back with his mother for New Years. He really wants to see you before he leaves, so I was planning that we'd celebrate early. Well, tomorrow, actually." He adds the last part with a sheepish grin.

Pete is looking at him pleadingly, and Patrick can't find it in himself to say no at his request. He'd already blown off their Christmas invitation without saying anything, especially since Pete and his son were looking forward to it, just because he wanted to be alone.

"Please?"

Patrick gives in with a smile, nodding. He enjoys spending his time with them anyway. "Sure. What time should I come?"

He can't explain the rush of warmth on his face when Pete's face brighten up. Sure, he admits that Pete's attractive and all, but he has also met some other attractive people, and none of them makes him feel the way he feels now.

"Six-ish, if that's okay with you? They're picking him up at nine, so we can have time until then. You still have my address, right?"

Patrick nods once again. Pete gave him when he was supposed to come to their house for Christmas.

"Great. We'll see you then." Pete beams, patting his shoulder before turning on his heels to leave. Patrick stares at his back, knowing that there's no way out this time.

-

"Trick, you came!" Bronx cries out in glee as soon as Patrick steps out of his car and into the yard. He struggles to catch his balance when Bronx launches himself to him before dragging him to the backyard, chattering merrily. "Dad's upstairs grabbing some firecrackers for us. We have _tonnes_ of 'em-"

Patrick chuckles at the boy's fervor. His energy is infectious, and it's almost impossible to _not_ be somewhat happy when he's around Bronx. When they reach the backyard, Bronx immediately turns around to face him, looking in the direction behind him.

"What are you searching for?" Patrick blinks as he looks behind him as well.

"Where's your fiance? Did you bring her along?"

His stomach drops at the question. He definitely doesn't expect that question to come up that night. "Uh, not here?" He answers nervously, avoiding any use of pronouns.

"I really wanna meet her." Bronx pouts, face crestfallen. "What is she like? I bet she's as awesome as you!"

Patrick forces himself to put on a smile without looking sad. "The most amazing person in the world."

He almost sweats at the way Bronx is looking at him. He feels like a specimen under a microscope- being dissected and observed. Only, instead of a scientist, he's being observed by a seven years old. "What's the matter?"

"You're doing it again." Bronx states bluntly. Patrick swallows, wiping his hands on his pants, and musters up the most genuine smile even though his heart is racing at a hundred miles an hour. "What was it that I'm doing again?"

"That." The blond boy points to Patrick's face. "You're smiling, but I know you're sad. You did it back at the hospital, and again when we went out for pizza."

Wow. Patrick's speechless at just how observant the kid can be. When he was seven years old, all he could do was make a bunch of noises on his dad's guitar and his brother's violin. He licks his lip, a habit out of nervousness, and tries to think up of an answer.

He looks around, trying to find a distraction, and sighs in relief when he finds one in the form of Pete Wentz. "Hey, look. Your dad's here with the firecrackers."

Bronx whips his head around, face lighting up in excitement, and their previous topic is immediately dropped and forgotten just like that.

"Firerackers!" Bronx cheers as he runs to his awaiting dad, who is struggling to hold a box of firecrackers and sparklers. Patrick's eyes widen at the amount of them. Bronx wasn't kidding when he said they have _"tonnes of 'em"_.

It must've cost Pete a fortune, and for a second, Patrick thought that the only way to get _that_ much firecrackers is by smuggling.

Pete catches his confused, and what can be called as worrisome, gaze and grins at him after placing the box down on the ground. "I know what you're thinking. I didn't smuggle these. Boy scout's honour."

A smile creeps on his face, and Patrick walks over to them when Bronx calls him. "Boy scout, huh?"

"Proud Eagle." Pete answers smugly, chin tilted up, but looks back down when his son tugs on his shirt. "C'mon, dad! I wanna play the sparklers!"

As he watches the father-son duo light some sparklers and running around the yard, laughing, he can't help the small fluttering in his chest.

"C'mon, Trick. Grab one and join us!" Bronx waves his hand, catching his attention.

"No, it's okay." Patrick smiles. "I'll just watch from here and help you light them up."

"Yeah?" Pete cocks his head and throws a smirk in his direction. "You scared, Trick? Afraid of a little sparkler?"

Patrick scowls, wishing he can wipe that smirk off of the doctor's face. "No, I'm _not_ afraid. I just choose not to-"

His words are interrupted when Pete makes a clucking sound. Patrick narrows his eyes when Pete grins innocently at him. "Did you just-"

Pete makes the sound again, and it's starting annoy Patrick. Seriously, how is it that a man with such a high-ranking job is this _immature?_

He lights one sparkler just as Pete starts to run away from him and Bronx. "Can't catch us!"

Never, in his adult life, has Patrick ever imagined that he'd run around in someone's backyard with a sparkler in his hand because someone made clucking chicken sounds at him.

Pete is definitely one of a kind.

Patrick pauses in his chase and bursts into laughter at the sight of Pete tripping over a stool in the way. Bronx leans against him as he, too, laughs at his father's misfortune.

"Oh, har har. Very funny." Pete rolls his eyes and stands up, but falls again when he slips on a slippery patch. "Not funny, guys!"

Patrick's laughing hard now, to the point where he's doubling over and his sides are aching. It's been a long time since he's laughed like this, and a feeling of euphoria takes over him.

He misses it- the adrenaline rush, the thrill, and the happiness. He just misses being happy in general.

They chase each other around for a while, play with some firecrackers, and keep Bronx company until he has to go. Patrick was hoping that Bronx's mother would come to pick him up so he can see how she looks like, but she couldn't come due to a fever and has someone else to pick Bronx up instead.

"I'll see you soon, little dude." Pete says as he squeezes his son in a hug. "Say hi to your mom for me."

"Will do, dad. Happy New Year." Bronx hugs him back, then turns to give Patrick one. "Thanks for coming, Trick. Happy New Year."

Patrick smiles and ruffles his hair. "Happy New Year, Bronx. Have fun."

When Bronx releases him, he runs to the car and waves to both of them before getting into his ride. Patrick hears a small sigh from Pete, and he turns to him. "Miss him already?"

Pete chuckles and shoves his hands into his pockets. "You have no idea, man. That kid's my life. Now I'm back to the same ol' boring routine everyday."

Patrick glances at his watch, then sighs at the time. "I should get going. It's getting pretty late. I have work tomorrow."

"Yeah, same here. We should hang out more. For a coffee or something?" Patrick spots the small blush adorning Pete's tanned skin, and it's actually adorable when he thinks about it.

"Yeah, sure." Patrick answers, heart skipping a beat at the smile Pete gives him. "You have my number, right? Just call me."

"Will do, Mr Stump." Pete mock salutes him, and Patrick smirks at the name. "I'll see you soon, Dr Wentz."

When he gets home and settles in bed later, he falls asleep with a smile on his face for the first time ever.

-

Patrick is sat on a grassy hill in a park, leaning back on his hands as he looks up at the night sky, tracing constellations. It's already New Year's Eve, only about fifteen minutes away from a new year.

_New resolutions, new regrets, new mistakes._

He surveys his surrounding. The area isn't too crowded with people, but there are enough that one needs to find their way around amidst those who have already seated on the ground, with blankets and picnic baskets and all that jazz.

He used to be one of those people. When any festivities came around, he and Brendon would come to any quiet places - Brendon seemed to know all the secret spots that no one else knew - and have a small picnic. They would stop by at any fast food joints to buy their food, then lay on the ground or on the hood of the car, admiring the sky and the fireworks.

Patrick loves the fireworks. He loves the beautiful patterns they make, and the booming sounds send a rush of thrill through him, his heartbeat reverberating together with it.

But Brendon didn't, though. Brendon hated the fireworks. They had a small fight about it when Patrick wanted to watch the fireworks together with him, but after they both had calmed down, they came to an agreement. They would go to a place where fireworks could be seen, but not heard. Even though Brendon didn't exactly tell him the reason, Patrick knew why, but he just kept his mouth shut, and his heart broke slightly for the younger man.

Now that he's watching the fireworks at an open place, guilt starts to eat him. It feels like he's betraying Brendon for some fireworks.

"I'm surprised seeing you here all alone. I would've thought you'd celebrate with your fiance."

Patrick jolts in surprise at the voice, recognizing it as Pete's, and he quickly wipes any traces of tears away, praying that Pete doesn't notice anything. Or, if he does, that he wouldn't call him on it.

"Yeah, no," Patrick clears his throat, voice a little hoarse. "I'm- I'm here by myself."

Pete stands next to him, crouching slightly. "Mind if I sit here with you?"

Patrick shakes his head and puts on a smile, patting the space next to him. "No. Uh, go ahead."

He looks back up at the sky when Pete sits down beside him. He doesn't mind the silence between them; he's not really in the mood for talking anyway.

But the silence is soon broken when Pete clears his throat. "Patrick, can I ask you a question?"

The shorter man cocks his head quizzically, eyebrows furrowing. "What is it?"

"First of all, I just want to say I'm sorry if you feel like I'm intruding," Pete starts with an apology, which only raises Patrick's curiosity more, "but where is she?

Patrick blinks. "Who?"

"Your fiance. I mean, we've seen each other a few times this month, but whenever we came to that subject, you immediately changed it." Pete tells him slowly, being careful about the words he's choosing. "And you keep playing with your ring. So…"

Patrick flinches, not expecting for Pete to question about the matter. Although, if Bronx already noticed it, then of course Pete would notice it as well.

He lets out a small chuckle in hopes that it can throw Pete off. "What? No, I don't."

"Yes, you do." Pete flicks his gaze in Patrick's direction, and Patrick's throat closes up at the sheer intensity of it. "And, well, you kinda look off each time, so I know something's up."

Patrick bites his lip and looks away, avoiding the piercing gaze. He can't talk about it, not yet. He's not ready. If he didn't talk about his thoughts and feelings and _Brendon_ to Dallon or Joe or any of his close friends, then what does that say about Pete, a stranger-turned-acquaintance whom he met less than a month ago?

His eyes have started to glaze again, he knows it. The back of his eyelids are burning, just waiting to shed tears. Patrick hates it. He hates the fact that he can't talk or even _think_ about Brendon without wanting to cry. It's been a year, and he knows he should have already gotten over him, but no.

The pain is as fresh as the moment Brendon's body had been buried.

Minutes pass by between them in silence, and he can't be any more thankful that the fireworks show has started, lighting up the dark sky with various colours and cutting their conversation short. Pete sighs next to him, sounding like he's given up in getting a proper answer from him, and Patrick just rests his head on his knees, eyes closed.

_As soon as the fireworks began to go off, Patrick tilted his head upwards at the same time Brendon leaned downwards. They met halfway in a soft, gentle kiss._

_"Happy New Year, babe," Brendon smiled when they pulled away. "Here's to another year of us. I love you."_

_Even though they had been together for a long time now, Patrick could still feel butterflies every time Brendon said those three words to him. It's a weird feeling, but not unwelcome, because Brendon practically said it everyday, but still Patrick would blush each time. "I love you too, Bren."_

_Brendon chuckled and laid on the grass, pulling Patrick down with him. Patrick rested his head on Brendon's chest as they both looked up at the sky, watching the fireworks explode into the dark sky._

_"But I love you more," Brendon said in a baby voice, and Patrick rolled his eyes at him when the younger man laughed. "Way to ruin the moment."_

_Patrick pursed his lip, annoyed that Brendon still hadn't stopped laughing at him. He just stared at the sky, eyes almost drooping in sleepiness when he felt Brendon's hand on his hip and a kiss on his head. "I mean it, Patrick. I love you. More than you'll ever know."_

_Brendon's voice was too soft, and Patrick heard the sincerity behind them. It's a wonder how Brendon managed to turn a complete 180 in just a few seconds- he was playful one second, then serious the next._

_"Patrick, I-" Brendon began, then cut himself off. "Never mind."_

_The shorter man tilted his head to look at Brendon, forehead creased, curious. "What is it?"_

_"No, nothing. Just forget it." Brendon shook his head, brushing the matter off, which caused Patrick to frown. He didn't like it when Brendon hid something from him. He balanced himself on his arm and stared down at Brendon. "If it's nothing, then you can tell me what it is."_

_Brendon let out a small sigh and pressed Patrick back down on him. "That's a talk for another time. Let's just watch the fireworks for now."_

_"Brendon-"_

_"Another time. I promise."_

_"But-"_

_"I_ promise. _Do you trust me?"_

_He tensed at the way Brendon's voice sounded. First, it was soft, then stern, then a little shaky. Whatever Brendon was about to tell him must be pretty big, considering that his voice sounded timid, as opposed to his usual assertive one._

_"Fine." He finally answered after a moment of silence. He closed his eyes as he tried to enjoy the light caresses on his side, the heartbeat under him, and the warmth surrounding him while ignoring the unsettling feeling in his chest. "I'll hold you to that."_

Patrick opens his eyes and gasps for air, back shooting up straight as one hand flew over his mouth. His knees are pulled closer to his chest, body trembling with muffled sobs and small hiccups, and Pete places a hand on his back, rubbing up and down in soothing motion.

It terrifies him just how real-life the dream is. _How real-life all the dreams about Brendon are._ It makes him doubt everything- whether Brendon is still alive and not dead, whether he's living in a dream or a reality.

Though, deep down inside, Patrick wishes that he's living in reality with Brendon still alive.

It takes everything in his power to pull himself together just to get through the day, but when his memories with Brendon randomly appear, everything just crumbles down like a house of cards. There had been a time when Patrick tried to forget Brendon and erase all the memories he had with him.

It worked, for a while, until his emotions came bursting through the wall he'd spent countless tears and sleepless nights to build. He never attempted to forget him ever since, but he doesn't talk about it to anyone either. It just settles deep within him, flowing in his veins, tattooed under his skin, growing bigger and never leaving. There's no exit door for it.

Fireworks continue to fly into the sky above them, gone oblivious by the two men below.

Pete is silent next to him, but the hand on his back is more than enough to make Patrick feel a little less lonely and a little more better. He soon calms down, sobs and hiccups gone, breathing regulated, and he opens his mouth.

He wants to say his gratitude, wants to say his apologies for accidentally crying, but all that comes out is a whispered "Happy New Year."

The hand travels to his shoulder and squeezes gently, and he hears a quiet, "Happy New Year" back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave some comments!


	5. Chapter 5

Patrick sits alone at the park, the sky painted blue and orange, as he scrolls through his photo album in his phone. He's not an avid selfie taker, in fact, he's far from it, so there are only a few photos of him in his phone.

Most of the photos are of his and Brendon's nieces and nephews. He would let them play with his phone while he tried to catch a break, and when he checked his phone later in the night, the album was bombarded with their selfies. Patrick doesn't have the heart to delete them, though. So, even when he scrolls really fast, the screen would still show thumbnail images of the children.

He stops scrolling when he spots a particular photo and clicks on it. It's a picture of Brendon cuddling with their dog, taken around three years back, just a few months before he had to go for a mission that he'd never return from.

He presses back and scrolls again, finding another picture of Brendon in the very same park, laying on his back and grinning up at the camera, hair messy and shirt wrinkled, but his eyes shone with absolute happiness. Patrick gazes longingly at the picture, thumb swiping gently over Brendon's face.

A teardrop falls onto the phone screen seconds later.

_Patrick fell into step beside Brendon after helping Charlie tie his shoelaces; one hand holding the boy's hand, the other holding their dog's leash. Brendon was carrying Amy in his arms, nodding along to one of her whimsical stories and chiming in between with his own version of the story._

_It was a perfect evening, in Patrick's opinion. There were some other couples in the park, just like them, walking their dogs or just relaxing and unwinding after a stressful week at work._

_Charlie tugged on his hand and called out for him with an excited voice. "Uncle Tricky, look! They have ice cream!"_

_"Ice cream!" Amy cheered. "C'mon, Uncle Brenny! I scream, you scream-"_

_"We all scream for ice cream!" Brendon sang the last part and laughed afterwards. Patrick's cheeks flush with happiness seeing Brendon looking all carefree and enjoying himself._

_Charlie's tugging on his hand snapped him out of his daze, and he followed the boy to the ice-cream parlor. Brendon followed behind, still singing along to children tunes with his niece._

_Once they had reached the parlor, Brendon whispered something to Amy before passing her to him and taking Bogart's leash. Patrick didn't question why, he just assumed that Brendon's arms had fallen asleep from carrying her. He tilted his head and read the menu on the wall, completely unaware of Brendon crouching down and whispering the same thing to Charlie._

_When he turned around, Brendon stood up with a grin on his face. Patrick eyed him suspiciously, but kept his mouth shut. He knew that Brendon had something up his sleeves, if his grin were any indication._

_"What do you guys want?" Patrick asked, giving his attention to the two children instead. Amy leaned back from the display case and grinned up at him. "Can I have strawberry ice cream with sprinkles, papa?"_

_Patrick choked on his own spit. "W- What?"_

_"You want strawberry with sprinkles, baby girl?" Brendon voiced up from behind him, and Patrick could literally hear the laughter in his voice. Amy giggled in his arms and threw her arms in the air. "_ Rainbow _sprinkles, daddy!"_

_"O- okay." Patrick swallowed, and when his gaze went to the cashier, he flushed under her amused look. He cleared his throat and went to Charlie, hopefully the only one sane other than him. "What about you, Charlie?"_

_"I want chocolate." The boy beamed at him, and Patrick let out a relieved sigh. At least_ someone _didn't join in one of Brendon's shenanigans. "And chocolate syrup and sprinkles! Thanks, papa!"_

Spoke too soon, _Patrick thought, but he smiled anyway. Then, he turned to the cashier. "I'll have one strawberry ice cream with rainbow sprinkles and one chocolate ice cream with chocolate syrup and sprinkles."_

_"Would that be all, mister?" She asked as she began to ring up his order. Patrick glanced behind him to look at Brendon. "You want anything?"_

_"Nah, it's okay." Brendon declined, shaking his head before grinning, brown eyes glinting with pure mischief. "I'll have my treat later."_

_The cashier let out a choked laughter and began preparing his orders while Patrick, his face crimson red in embarrassment, punched the other man at the shoulder. The cashier returned with two cups of ice cream in her hands, and she gave each to the kids. "That'll be seven fifty."_

_Patrick handed her the exact amount of cash and thanked her. She smiled back, quipping, "you two are a cute couple."_

_Brendon stepped up until he's standing directly behind Patrick and wrapped his arm around his waist, a wide grin plastered across his face. "Why, thank you."_

_Patrick just shook his head fondly at him as they walked away, Bogart trailing obediently by their feet. When they reached a bench, he placed Amy down, who proceeded to be dragged away by Charlie and their dog._

_"Don't play too far!" Brendon called out to them before sitting down on the bench. They heard a faint_ "We won't!" _by the two siblings in return, followed by a bark. Patrick sat down beside him, knees brushing against each other. When he glanced up at Brendon, he noticed the faraway look in his eyes. "What are you thinking about?"_

_Brendon took a moment to answer, but when he did, his voice sent a fluttering feeling in his chest. "I want us to have a family someday." He replied, confident and full of hope. "I want us to get married, have a family, adopt one or two kids. I want us to grow old together. I want us to be together till the end of time."_

_Patrick wasn't going to deny that he had been wanting the same thing, but to hear it from Brendon just solidified everything. Brendon was still young, younger than he was, and he should be out having fun, going to clubs and partying, yet here he was with him- walking their dog together, babysitting his niece and nephew together, talking about their future together._

_And Brendon had sounded so sure of himself when he talked about his future. All of them involved them together. It wasn't focused solely on him, like_ "I want to do this, I want to do that" _. Everything was focused on both of them- "_ I want _us_ to do this, I want _us_ to do that."

_Patrick was flattered and touched that Brendon wanted to share his future with him. And now, Patrick had never been more sure than ever in his life that he wanted to spend the rest of his days together with the man next to him._

_"Yeah." Patrick stared at him from the side, his gaze softening as Brendon smiled watching the two kids chase their dog around. "I want all of those, too."_

"That's him, isn't it? That's your fiance."

Patrick quickly blinks his tears away and clears his throat when Pete walks up from behind and sits next to him. He turns off his phone, the screen going black instantly. "H- Hey. What are you doing here?"

"I was just driving by, then I saw your car." Pete sheepishly answers. Patrick just makes a non-committal hum and not saying anything else, his hands fiddling with his phone nervously. A barrage of questions and thoughts run in his mind. _Did Pete see the picture? Does Pete recognize Brendon? Does Pete even know him? What kind of question is Pete going to ask him?_

"So, as I was saying," Pete voices up, "I'm assuming that's your fiance?"

Should he answer the question? What will Pete say if he found out that he's engaged to a guy?

He pauses. _Why does it matter what other people think?_

"I'm just gonna say yes, seeing that you're playing with your ring." Pete continues, his tone casual, no malice or disgust present. Patrick immediately looks down at his fingers and finds that Pete's right. His fingers are twisting the ring around his finger, and he doesn't even realize it.

"Hey, I'm not judging or anything. I'm bi myself." Pete shrugs and leans back against the bench. "So, what's his name?"

Patrick lets out a small sigh of relief, but he's still not answering any of Pete's questions. He's just nowhere near ready to talk about it yet. He's tired of hearing the same 'ol _"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that"_. He just wants to hear something different for once.

"Okay… well, where is he now?" Pete asks again, clearly not giving up just yet. "I'm pretty good at guessing, so just stop me whenever. Let's see…"

Pete's a talkative person, Patrick muses. It's a no wonder where Bronx gets his friendliness from.

"I'm thinking business trips? Uh, wait, no. Let me think again."

While Pete keeps coming up with somewhat reasonable guesses, Patrick stares on ahead, tapping his foot on the ground. There's no one else at the park but them, except for the flocks of birds flying and crowing high above. The sun has completely set, leaving the sky painted a beautiful gradient of pink and purple with scattered blinking dots across them.

Brendon would love the view. He loved watching the sky- at dawn, noon, dusk, twilight, midnight. Patrick would get dragged along sometimes, and they would just lie on the grass together, looking up at the sky. Sometimes they would talk, sometimes they would just keep silent. And if he fell asleep, he would wake up in their bed with Brendon sleeping next to him, then he would go back to sleep again.

To him, there's nothing more peaceful than skygazing with Brendon beside him.

"I, um, this may sound crazy, but he died, didn't he?"

Everything suddenly pauses around him. His foot has stopped taping, the birds gone, and the only sound that he can hear is his heart pounding.

"I'm right, aren't I?"

He bites his lip, twisting the ring around his finger again, and swallows the lump in his throat as everything goes back into motion- cars passing by, leaves rustling, crickets chirping. When exactly was the last time someone mentioned Brendon's death in front of him?

Right. _A year ago._ Everyone has been so cautious of the subject whenever he's around that it has become almost a taboo to speak out loud, so the subject hangs heavy in the air; nobody dares to address it.

Instead of the usual _"I'm sorry"_ speech like he's been expecting, Pete places his arm around his shoulder and sighs. "Hey, I know how it feels like to lose someone. Not by death, but still." He adds the last part as an afterthought.

Patrick turns his head and looks at Pete, who has his head thrown back and is looking up at the navy blue sky. _Pete lost someone before?_

As if reading his mind, Pete tilts his head and gives him half a smile. "I'm divorced, remember? You have no idea how much I loved her. No matter how many times I begged, she wouldn't change her mind."

"And when the divorce was finalized, it felt like a part of me was ripped away from me. I couldn't do anything about it. I just… sat there watching it all happened." Pete continues with a soft voice, his gaze back on the sky. "Wondering if it really happened. If it all was just a bad dream."

Patrick stares at him, surprised. That is close to how he felt when the officials broke the news to him. It felt like he's watching the world move - watching himself move - from an outsider's perspective. Everything felt blank and numb. _Lifeless._

"It took some time for me to get back on my feet, especially when I have a kid to take care of, but everything happens for a reason, I guess." Pete shrugs and pats Patrick's thigh before standing up. "It's getting late. You should go home."

"Y- Yeah." Patrick stutters, finally speaking since Pete sat down next to him. He stands up as well and shoves his hands in his jacket, licking his lip. He's curious as to how Pete can be happy after losing someone. Pete must had had taken it hard back then.

If he were in Pete's shoes, if he and Brendon were married and had a kid and Brendon asked for a divorce, and Patrick couldn't do anything to change his mind, he doesn't think he can be how Pete is now- happy and content with his life. He probably would've ended up worse.

At least, with Brendon's death, he knows that Brendon still loved him.

His pulse quickens when Pete waves at him and begins to walk away. He takes a deep breath and opens his mouth. "I, um, is it okay if I take you up on that offer for coffee tomorrow?"

Pete pauses in his tracks and turns around, looking at him. Patrick hugs the jacket tighter to himself, feeling unnerved under his scrutinizing gaze.

"Of course." Pete's eyes sparkle with a hint of a smile under the streetlight that makes his stomach flip. "Tomorrow at nine. I'll meet you at the cafe we met the other day."

-

"I have a feeling that you want to ask me something," Pete states as soon as they sit down on the hill they had been to during New Years. After they had their breakfast at the cafe, Pete suggests that they go to the hill just to relax. Patrick's face turns red at Pete's bluntness. "Am I that obvious?"

Pete chuckles and leans back on his hands. "No. I just really like guessing. So, what is it? What's on your mind?"

"Well…" Patrick begins, picking at the grass below to calm his nerves. "Um, how- how did you deal with it? The divorce, I mean."

"Pretty bad, to be honest. I'd waste my time sleeping day and night. I even had my mom take care of Bronx for me." He chuckles at the last sentence. Patrick doesn't laugh along with him, however. He wants to know more. "How was it?"

"Like the sky had turned black and not a single star was present." Pete's voice is calm, but the melancholic answer makes Patrick shiver slightly.

Patrick rubs his arms and pulls his knees up. "Like you're lost with nothing to guide and nowhere to go."

"Yeah." Pete looks at him and smiles, showing his perfect teeth. "That's exactly it."

"How long?" Patrick asks again, his nervous energy wanes away by Pete's smile. "How long have you been divorced?"

Pete's face scrunches up in thought for a second, and Patrick swears in that split second, he sees an image of Brendon. His pulse picks up, heart pounding hard against his ribcage, but the image disappears as soon as it came. He bites his lip, feeling his eyes beginning to water.

Brendon used to do that same face whenever he's trying to remember something.

"Five years, I think." Pete answers a few seconds later, oblivious to Patrick's mini freak-out. "Wow. Now that I've said it out loud, that's pretty long. Man, my old self wouldn't believe where he would be five years later."

"He'd be proud if he knew." Patrick comments, trying to make sure that Pete doesn't notice or question anything, especially now that his eyes are probably puffy and voice slightly strained.

Pete does, though. He does notice, and his forehead creased in concern. "What happened? Did I say something wrong earlier?"

Patrick shakes his head and rests his chin on his knees. "Nothing."

Their conversation halts there. Patrick doesn't know how to continue after his awkward one-word answer, and he guesses that Pete probably feels the same. But that's not to say that he doesn't enjoy the silence.

He steals a glance at Pete from the corner of his eyes. Pete has already laid on his back, arms crossed behind his head and eyes closed.

 _Brendon wouldn't close his eyes,_ his mind interjects, and Patrick agrees silently. Brendon would point to some random clouds and try to guess the shape, and Patrick would have trouble keeping up because Brendon would switch clouds every few seconds before he could even guess the shape.

Patrick sighs and rakes his fingers through his hair, leaning back and gazing up at the moving clouds. No matter what, it always leads to Brendon in the end. Brendon. _Brendon._

"Brendon."

Pete opens his eyes and tilts his head to the side, looking at him questioningly. His chest feels light, but at the same time like it's being tied to an anchor or an anvil, weighing him down. He knows why, though. This is the first time ever that he says Brendon's name to other people in over a year. He tries to avoid it as best as he can, and he has only ever said it when he's talking to Brendon.

He takes in a shaky breath and swallows as a familiar ache makes itself present at the back of his throat.

"His name's Brendon. Brendon Urie."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave some comments!


	6. Chapter 6

His heart feels like it's about to explode the moment he lets Brendon's name escapes his mouth. He forces himself to look down at his lap when Pete slowly sits up from his lying position, shock expression crossing his face.

"I, um-" Pete stutters and closes his mouth, then places his hand gingerly on Patrick's shoulder. "Thank you. For telling me."

Patrick lets out a small sigh of relief. Thank the heavens it's not another _'I'm sorry'_. His heartbeat starts to slow down, but that still doesn't make the lump in his throat disappear. He clears his throat and nods. "Y- Yeah."

They settle back into silence, though, Patrick can feel Pete's gaze on him. He licks his lip, feeling unnerved. _Is Pete going to say something else?_

"I mean it, Patrick." Pete continues as he squeezes his shoulder, his voice quiet and earnest. "Thank you for telling me. I know it's difficult to talk about it."

That's why, Patrick thinks, he decides to tell Pete about Brendon in the first place. Because Pete understands him. Pete understands what he's going through. Pete understands what loss feels like.

That's just what he needs. Someone to understand him. Sure, he has friends who have been nothing but supportive all this time, but that's just it. _They don't understand._

He doesn't need sympathy or someone to tell him _"We'll be here for you"_ or _"Call us if you need someone to talk to"_. He just needs someone to understand why it takes him a long time to open up.

"And, I know you must've heard this a million times before, but-" Pete squeezes his shoulder again, "-I'm here if you're ready to talk. Anytime."

Patrick lifts his head to look at Pete, watching and waiting. Pete's right. He's heard that too many times before, but he's still wary about it. They just _say_ that they're there for him, but then they leave him to do their business.

It's selfish, but people should reach out to him, not the other way around. He's already had enough on his plates, struggling just to get through his daily life, so if they really want to help, _they_ are the ones who should make the first move. _Not him._

Pete drops his hand from his shoulder, and Patrick thinks that's it. _Pete's just like other people. Leaving him as soon as he offers his help._

But he's proven otherwise when Pete scoots closer to him until their shoulders brush. Pete doesn't say anything. He just leans back and tilts his head up to the sky above, eyes closed.

Patrick bites his lip and looks back down at his ring, twisting it around his finger. What Pete just did is a minuscule gesture, one that people wouldn't look or even think twice about it, but the meaning is significant.

The small contact between them almost brings Patrick to tears.

Because for the first time since Brendon's death, Patrick doesn't feel alone.

He hugs his knees to his chest and rests his chin on them. "Thank you," he whispers.

Pete lets out a small hum. "You're welcome."

-

"Patrick Stump. We meet again."

Patrick turns around at the voice, and he smiles when he sees the person, dressed in a plain button-up with a dark tie and a pair of black slacks, all squeaky clean and neat. "Pete Wentz. Indeed we do."

Pete laughs as he sidles up next to him in the line at the coffee shop they went to the other day. Patrick likes going to work early so he can take his time driving and eating breakfast, just immersing himself deep in his thoughts, and still have some time to spare when he reaches the studio.

He's surprised to find Pete this early as well. Then again, Bronx is with his mother, so Pete probably has to find something else to fill his time that he used to spend with his son getting ready for school.

"What are you ordering?" Pete asks him. Patrick glances up at the menu board on the wall, humming. "Just a regular cup of coffee. And maybe some sandwiches."

"Alright." Pete says before placing his hand on Patrick's back, pushing him gently out of the line and gesturing to an empty table. Patrick is about to protest when Pete smiles at him, and his heart just skips at the sight. "Go get us a table. I'll be back with our orders."

"O- Okay." Patrick stares at him wide-eyed before turning around and walking in the direction to a table. He places his hand over his pounding heart and bites his lip.

_Why does he feel like this every time Pete smiles at him?_

After he takes his seat, he glances down at his ring. _It's nothing._ His heart doing flips is just a side-effect of his high caffeine intake or blood pressure or something with a simple medical explanation, and it's a coincidence that Pete just so happens to be around when it happens.

See? It's nothing.

The sound of the bell chiming stirs Patrick from his thoughts, and he looks up to see his friend entering the cafe with crutches under both his arms.

"Patrick!" Dallon greets him as he makes his way to him. "You're eating here? Don't you usually order on the go?"

"I- uh-" Patrick stammers nervously. How would Dallon take it if he tells him that he's eating breakfast with his doctor? His palms are starting to get sweaty while Dallon waits expectantly for his answer.

"Orders up, sunshine." Pete beams as he arrives at their table with a tray of food in his hands. Patrick looks up in panic when Dallon raises his eyebrows at the nickname and the doctor. "Dallon, I-"

Dallon cuts him off mid-sentence and turns to face Pete, stretching his hand out with a smile on his face. "Dr Wentz. Fancy seeing you here with my friend."

"Ah." Pete's face brightens up in recognition as he accepts the handshake. "Mr Weekes. How's your leg doing? Any better?"

"Nothing I can't handle." Dallon replies, shrugging. "I'm getting the hang of using these things."

Pete lets out a laugh and sits in front of Patrick, who is still freaking out. _What is Dallon going to think about this?_

"Come join us. Patrick can drive you to work later. That is, assuming you two are colleagues." Pete continues, unaware of Dallon's furrowing of the eyebrows and Patrick's tense body. He's completely sure that Dallon doesn't miss how Pete is calling him by his first name.

Dallon glances at Patrick briefly before shaking his head, smiling at the doctor. "It's okay. My friend's waiting in the car outside. I'll see you in my next appointment, doc."

"Take care, man." Pete beams at him, patting his arm. Dallon looks at Patrick, and the corner of his lips lift upwards. "I'll see you at the studio, Patrick."

Patrick gulps, nodding mutely, and watches Dallon make his way to the counter. He turns to the tray on the table and picks up his drink, stirring the hot black liquid. There's no doubt that Dallon is suspecting something between them. He may not say it out loud, but Patrick can see it in his body language. The way Dallon's eyes would flick over to him every few seconds when he's talking to Pete. The way Dallon's eyebrows would raise when Pete mentioned his name.

And there's just something about the way Dallon smiles that brings shivers up and down his spine.

He sighs quietly and takes a sip of his drink as Pete starts to chatter about his previous day.

He's definitely screwed when he reaches the studio later.

-

When he gets to the studio, Dallon is already waiting for him in his room with his eyebrow raised. "Well?"

Patrick shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over his chair before starting up the computer and the workstation. "Did you need something, Dallon?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." Dallon answers, his eyes glinting with a hint of a smile. "So, you and my doctor?"

Heat immediately rises to Patrick's face, and he quickly turns around before Dallon notices it. However, the small quirk of Dallon's lips tells him that he's too slow in doing so. "We- we were only talking about your leg- and- yeah…"

He shrugs at the end of his sentence to appear casual and sits on a chair, pointedly ignoring Dallon's small chortle. "My leg, huh? How sweet of you, but don't you think that conversation should have involved me?"

He flushes again when Dallon lets out another chuckle. "How long have you guys been doing this behind my back anyway?"

"Dallon." Patrick purses his lips, cheeks still burning. "It's not like that. I didn't have a ride home after we sent you to the hospital, so he offered to drive me back. And we kept bumping into each other ever since."

"Huh." Dallon comments simply, his eyes slightly widened before they curve with a secretive smile. Patrick looks back to the monitor, feeling butterflies fluttering in his guts. He has an inkling at what Dallon is thinking, but he's going to pretend he has no idea what it is.

Because whatever _it_ is, it's not true.

"So, anyway." Dallon clears his throat as he changes the topic, making Patrick sigh in relief. "Butch is throwing a party tonight at his house. Travie's single just gone platinum. You coming?"

Patrick shakes his head, declining the invitation, and looks up at Dallon in apology. "My mom's coming today. Sorry. Tell Travie I said hi."

Dallon just smiles and stands up with the help of his crutch, then nods at him. "Will do. Say hi to your mom for me."

Patrick waits until Dallon closes the door behind him before sighing and drooping in his seat. _That was a close one._

Because other than Brendon, Dallon is one of the person who can see right through his lies like a glass. And this is no exception.

-

 _"Brendon, you just got back!" Patrick yelled as he grasped Brendon's elbow to turn him around, and he was met with the taller man's angry glare. "I'm sorry if I want to spend my time with my boyfriend,_ who had been away for seven months _, rather than going to some- some club!"_

 _"That's exactly it!" Brendon gripped his own hair before flailing his arms to show his point._ "I just got back! _I spent months away with no entertainment! I'm sorry if I want to party!"_

_"We just went out with the guys a few nights ago!" Patrick fought back. He couldn't believe this. Brendon had been back less than a week, and they're already fighting. Brendon rarely went to clubs, but Patrick knew that once he went to one, he'd drink to the point where he wouldn't even remember his name. And combined with his reckless behaviour, Brendon was a time-bomb just ticking away._

_Brendon scrubbed his face with his hand in frustration. "It's not like we can't spend time together at the club!"_

_Patrick narrowed his eyes at him, nostrils flared. "You know I hate getting wasted! Why can't we just- Get back here!"_

_"Brendon!" His anger doubled when Brendon walked away in the middle of their fight. He couldn't believe the nerve that Brendon had. "Brendon!"_

_The younger man continued to ignore him as he yanked on the black leather jacket that he'd been holding since the beginning of their argument and grabbed the car key. Patrick bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from yelling and shouting again. He stood rigid with his arms crossed tightly against his chest, his gaze fixed on the wall to his right._

_He didn't want to fight Brendon; never liked fighting with him. But he also didn't like it when Brendon wouldn't spare a minute to understand why he did what he did. Why he's so worked up when Brendon went to a club._

_He trusted Brendon. He really did. He was never worried about the younger man cheating on him, but he did worry about him getting into troubles when he's drunk, especially if it involved the law._

_Brendon could be the most impertinent person in the world if his mind was buzzed from alcohol._

_When the front door slammed shut, his shoulders drooped, and his arms fell limply to his sides. Was he being too harsh on him? Was it right for him to yell at Brendon?_

_Was he… was he being controlling?_

_Patrick bit his lip, feeling guilt forming at the bottom of his stomach._

_Maybe he should apologize to Brendon. He just came back, after all. Of course Brendon would want to see and experience everything that's happening in every crevice of the town._

_He rushed upstairs to get his jacket before running back down with his own car keys in his hand, and when he pulled the door open, he's surprised to see his boyfriend sitting on the front steps, knees pulled up to the chest and shoulders hunched, back facing the door._

_Another wave of guilt crashed over him again. He didn't mean to make Brendon sad._

_He took a hesitant step forward before he finally gathered the courage to sit down next to the dark-haired man. He copied Brendon's posture and stared into the dark streets outside. Neither broke the silence between them._

_A few minutes passed by, and they still weren't talking to each other. Patrick fought down the butterflies in his chest as he leaned his head on Brendon's shoulder. "I'm sorry. Are you still mad at me?"_

_Brendon let out an audible sigh and rested his head on top of his, one arm snaked around him. "I should be the one asking that question."_

_"I'm not mad at you anymore." Patrick said quietly when Brendon started to caress his arm. "You do know that I'm worried about you, right?"_

_"Yeah. 'Msorry." Brendon turned slightly to kiss his head. "I just miss how it felt like being in clubs. How it felt like being anywhere."_

_Brendon wrapped another arm around him in a hug, pulling him into his lap. "Miss how it felt like being with you."_

_"I hate fighting with you." Brendon mumbled against his neck as he tightened his arms around him. Patrick sighed softly and ran his fingers through Brendon's dark and slightly greasy hair. "Same here. But if you really want to go tonight, then I won't stop you. Just be safe, please. That's all I'm asking from you."_

_Patrick's a little perplexed when Brendon shook his head, his hair tickling his neck. "I can go another time. I just want to spend tonight with you."_

_A soft smile appeared on his face. "Can we at least go inside? It's kinda cold out here."_

_The arms around him only tightened, and Patrick stifled his giggle when Brendon let out a childish whine. "You act as if I've never kept you warm before. Let's just stay here and watch the stars. Miss watching them with you."_

"I miss watching the stars with you." Patrick murmurs to the blinking stars above as he sits on the front steps, pulling a certain black jacket tighter to himself.

"Please come back, Brendon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave some comments!


	7. Chapter 7

"Hey, glad you can make it." Pete smiles widely as he opens the door wider. Patrick returns the smile and steps inside the Wentz residence. "It's fine. Not like I have anything to do at home anyway."

Pete had called him the night before asking him if he's free the next day, and when he said he had nothing planned, he could feel Pete's smile travel along the phone line to his ear and up and down his spine. It's a weird feeling, but he didn't have time to think twice about it when Pete invited him to his house to prepare something for when Bronx returns the next evening.

Hearing the boy's name, he realized just how much he misses the eight year old.

Patrick can't help the goosebumps on his skin when Pete's deep chuckle floats in his ears. Subtly smoothing the raised hair on his skin, he follows the dark-haired man into the kitchen.

"Bronx is gonna flip when he finds out you're here." Pete grins, walking to the counter where Patrick can see flour, butter, a bunch of cups and bowls of various sizes, and a recipe book opened in the middle. He steps next to Pete and takes the book in his hand, scanning the page where it shows a recipe for gooey chocolate brownies.

"He loves brownies, huh?" Patrick asks as he mentally checks the ingredients on the counter with the ones in the book. When he looks up, Pete has already put his apron on and is scrutinizing between two chocolate bars in both of his hands.

He starts to burst into laughter at the sight of the doctor in an apron. He never would've thought that Pete would be the type to cook or bake in aprons.

"Hey, hey. Enough of that." Pete glares playfully and tosses an apron in his direction. "Now let's get baking before the little dude arrives."

Catching the apron easily in his hand, he ties it around his neck and waist and catches his reflection on Pete's mirrored refrigerator. His eyes immediately drop to the material over his shirt, the bold red letters made prominent against the white background.

_❤ THE COOK_

His lip curves upward in nostalgic delight. He'd worn this kind of apron years back when he tried to bake pumpkin squares when their parents were coming for a visit. Brendon was the one who insisted on them making the squares using his mother's recipe because he wanted to impress her.

They had only been dating for two years then, and while they had already met each other's parents countless times, Patrick couldn't find it in himself to tell the younger man that his mother was already charmed by him.

It's pretty amusing watching his boyfriend being a mess in the kitchen in an attempt to get everything perfect.

 _"Look, babe, I love you, but I_ need _your mother to like me so I can marry you. I don't want to take Little Pat away from Mother Pat without her permission."_

"You okay, man?"

"Yeah." Patrick smiles one last time at his reflection and smoothes out the wrinkles on the apron before walking over to Pete, who has started measuring the flour. "Let's get baking."

-

An hour later, after watching Pete placing a tray of chocolatey gooey into the oven, he helps to gather the dirty bowls while Pete washes them all in the sink. He can't keep the smirk off his face every time he catches Pete's face twisting into a grimace.

"You don't wash the dishes much, do you?" Patrick leans back against the island and crosses his arms.

Pete lets out an undignified snort. "I don't like it one bit. But I have to whenever Bronx is here. I usually order take-outs if he's at his mom's."

"Why not?"

Pete tilts his head back to look at him, one eyebrow raised. "Dude. Wet food is gross."

When Pete returns to his task, Patrick stares outside the open window, his eyes trailing a small leaf floating on the gentle breeze.

_"This is so gross. Oh my god." Brendon groaned as he tentatively reached for the bottom of the sink, trying to find any utensils underneath all the suds. Patrick bit his lip trying to hide his laughter when Brendon suddenly stiffened, his face scrunched up in disgust as he yanked his hand out. "Ew! Fuck! Ew! Gross! Wet food! Wet food!"_

_"Bren, come on." Patrick laughed and continued to dry the plate in his hand with a cloth, watching in amusement at his young boyfriend panicking about getting some kind of disease from touching wet food. "You've helped Charlie and Amy out of their diapers, like, a thousand times before. How is this any different?"_

_"I_ like _Charlie and Amy." Brendon pouted while scrubbing his hands furiously with hand soap under the running water. "I_ don't _like washing dishes. There's your difference."_

_Patrick shook his head fondly. How did he fall in love with him in the first place? Placing the plate and the cloth aside, he put his hand on Brendon's shoulder, pulling him down as he stood on his toes, pecking him on the cheek. "Go dry the plates, you big baby. I'll wash the dishes."_

_"Babe." Brendon looked at him in a combination of awe and gratification. "_ Babe. _You're the best boyfriend ever. I am_ never _fucking letting you go."_

 _"All because I'm washing the dishes?" Patrick teased him as he continued where Brendon had left off previously. The younger man nodded solemnly, one hand reaching for the cloth on the counter. "That's, like, the deal breaker. You just owned my heart and my fucking_ soul _with those four words."_

_"Yeah?" Patrick lifted his eyebrow, amused at the declaration, and turned the tap off._

_Brendon nodded once again, leaning into his space until Patrick could feel his breath ghosting over his face. "Even turned me on a little."_

_Tongue darting out to wet his lip in a seductive manner, Patrick looked up at him, leaning even closer and slowly whispering, "I'll wash the dishes."_

_Brendon moaned, his arms sliding around Patrick's waist to pull him close. "Fucking_ hot. _"_

_Patrick laughed at his boyfriend's silly antic and tried to push him back, but only managed to get himself pulled even closer. "You're such a dork."_

_"You love me anyway." Brendon smiled and nuzzled into his neck, Patrick having to squirm away from his sharp stubble. Figuring that the younger man wasn't going to stop anytime soon, he settled into the warm embrace and sighed contentedly._

_"Guilty as charged."_

"Something on your mind?"

Pete's smooth, worried voice snaps him out of his daze, and he looks up with an apologetic smile at the other man. "Nothing. You just… you just remind me of him so much."

Pete's ears perk up, almost like a puppy, and he bites back his laugh. Pete's happiness and excitement is contagious, that's for sure. "Yeah? How so?"

"No. Nothing." He smiles sheepishly as he rubs the back of his neck, feeling a small blush rising up to his cheeks. "It's just- Well-"

"Hey. It's okay. You don't have to tell. I'm sorry for prying."

Maybe it would be nice to talk about Brendon with someone who doesn't know him. Everything has been going so well lately, today even better, and, truth be told, he misses having someone to talk to. He misses having someone to share his thoughts and feelings with.

"He hated washing the dishes." He starts with a soft chuckle as he shakes his head, his gaze falling onto the band around his finger. "He'd trade any chores as long as he didn't have to do it."

 _"I'll do the laundry for a week if you wash the dishes. I'll even hang them up and fold them and put them in the drawers. Just please,_ please _don't make me wash the dishes."_

"Said it was gross when he touched wet food. Believe it or not, he wouldn't come near me until he saw with his own eyes that I washed my hands with soap after washing the dishes." He ends with a small laugh. His eyes have gone wet, and he's not sure it's from what.

Judging from the lack of heaviness in his throat, he supposes it's a good thing.

"Sorry." He smiles as he wipes the corner of his eyes, his heart tingling and flying when the cool metal of the ring comes into contact with his face.

It's almost as if Brendon's there standing in front of him, cupping his face and smiling that warm smile of his, wiping away his tears. _"Don't worry, alright? Everything's going to be okay. I'm here. I love you. Now, let me see that adorable little smile that I love so much."_

"It's okay." Pete's whisper breaks the silence in the room, and when he opens his eyes, he's surprised to find that tears have filled his vision and something filled his throat. He feels Pete's warmth radiating from him, and then there's something soft, like a tissue, being dabbed just below his eyes until his vision becomes clear again- the first thing he sees being Pete's concerned and understanding whiskey eyes. "You don't have to apologize for anything."

"Y- Yeah." He clears his throat when his voice comes out hoarse. It's only then he realizes the small distance between them, and he takes a step back, averting his gaze to anywhere but the man in front of him. "I, um. H- How's the brownies?"

Pete doesn't reply him straight away, the room falling into silence as Patrick tries to collect himself in the kitchen. Tries to ignore Pete's eyes on him.

"Just fifteen minutes to go." Pete finally answers before the atmosphere can become awkward, and Patrick hears his footsteps walking to a direction away from him. He lifts his head to see that the dark-haired man is cleaning up the counter, keeping the butter in the fridge and the rest in the pantry.

While Pete's in the pantry, Patrick grabs the cloth by the sink and wets it under the running water, then moves to wipe the mess off the counter, all the while feeling guilty that he just flipped the blithe atmosphere into a dismal one.

He doesn't get how it turned this way when everything had been fine. He wasn't- he wasn't crying because he was _sad._ No. For once, his eyes didn't feel like they're on fire. His throat didn't feel like it's being choked. For once, he felt…

He felt _happy_ thinking of Brendon.

But the moment he felt like Brendon was standing in front of him… that small bit of happiness was ruthlessly ripped away from him by the cruel reality, leaving him with nothing but ache and pain and emptiness that he can - _will_ \- never get accustomed to.

"How do you do it, Pete?" He sighs quietly, not expecting for Pete to hear him, and he jolts in surprise when the doctor speaks up from behind him. "Time."

He looks over his shoulder, and with the sunlight pouring through the window and landing on Pete's face, he finally notices the wrinkles lining over his forehead and the corners of his eyes, the dark stubbles on his face contrasting with the light bleached hair, the pair of honey eyes that have seen too much and experienced too much.

It's hard to grasp the fact that Pete, the Pete who seems to have a charming smile permanently glued on his face and is content with everything in his life, is the same as the Pete who once went through the same thing as him.

Pete takes out two glasses and sets them on the counter, then makes their drinks. Patrick sits down on the stool, his eyes following Pete's back just as Pete starts speaking again. "I used to think that the phrase _'time heals all wounds'_ is just bullshit. I spent weeks, months, waiting for the world to feel right again, but you know what?"

Still fixing his gaze on Pete's back, he asks, "What?"

"It never did. Everything didn't feel right. My wounds didn't heal. Every single second was a battle to just breathe."

The sound of Pete's heavy sigh fills the silent air, and Pete's shoulders begin to droop, both hands placed on the counter. Sorrow fills Patrick at his posture. It makes him feel like pulling the other man into a hug and telling him that he's fine now. Everything was in the past.

"But, the moment I picked myself up, the moment I let everything in again-" Patrick unconsciously holds in his breath when Pete turns around with a jug of iced tea in his hand and a small smile on his lips, "-was also the moment I started healing."

Patrick swallows and glances down at his interlocked fingers. _Let everything in again._ That's… that's one thing he can't bring himself to do. He can't let the present, let alone the future, meshing with his past. He can't build a bridge between a world with Brendon and a world _without_ Brendon.

That's like trying to build a bridge between the earth and the sky.

He keeps his gaze down even when Pete has poured the beverage into the glasses and pushed one in his direction.

"Time doesn't heal, but it helps. Think of time as a bandage that binds your present and your past together, and your friends and families as the salves that soothe that wound." Pete's gentle voice coaxes him to look back up at him, and this time, he tries to not back down and retreat back into the dark corner of his mind.

Pete smiles at him, raising his glass in mid-air. "Ultimately, it's all up to you to apply the bandage and the salves. You can choose to treat the wound or let it be."

He chews on his bottom lip as he stares at the glass in front of him. He doesn't want to treat the wound. What if they erase everything about Brendon?

"Won't they end with the same result anyway?" He voices out seconds later, keeping his voice steady. "They become scars in the end. It's only a matter of time."

Pete hums around the rim of the glass, his smile never faltering. "Does it worth the pain?"

Guess he's a masochist then. Chuckling bitterly and shaking his head, he brings the glass up to his mouth and lets the cool liquid quench his dry throat. "What time is Bronx coming?"

"Well, it's three now." Pete answers after he pulls out his phone to check the time. "He's probably gonna be here around four or so."

"Did he ever tell you how we met?" Patrick's eyebrows are raised in unbridled excitement when he thought of their first encounter in the hospital hallway. His chest feels like it's being hammered from the inside at the sound of Pete's laughter vibrating against his eardrums.

"He did." Pete nods, still laughing as he pulls the stool out and sits across him. "You two kept asking each other questions instead of answering them."

"He's a bright kid, I'll give him credit for that." Call him cheesy or whatever, but watching a parent beaming with pride at their child is one thing he's always loved.

"Okay, I'm about to say something that's going to shift the mood here, so you can tell me to stop whenever, alright?" Even though Pete's tone is joking, Patrick knows he's serious. Propping his elbow up, he rests his cheek on his closed fist. "Alright. Hit me."

Patrick keeps his lips pressed together, but unable to fight against the small quirk upwards when Pete takes a deep breath. "To be honest, it had been hard to pull myself together in front of him."

His eyebrows lift in surprise, and he sits up straight, intrigued. "Oh? Why is that?"

"One thing about kids is that, no matter how old they are, they're actually more perceptive than you think." Pete huffs out a chuckle as he shakes his head wistfully. "You won't believe how many times he's asked me if I'm fine. He doesn't do it as much as he used to, but I can see it on his face, y'know? Like he's just holding back his questions."

"Are you?" Patrick asks, his tone careful and curious at the same time. Is Pete really fine? He doesn't want to seem like he's prying into his life, but he does want to know if Pete's really, truly, honestly is fine.

Pete lifts his shoulders before dropping them in a shrug as he finishes his drink. "Are we ever?"

Sighing, the kitchen turning silent once again, Pete swirls the glass in his hand, staring into nothing. "Last time, I couldn't bring myself to even look at him. Every time I saw him, I saw her."

Just like the two siblings and Brendon. Not only do they have the same hair colour, they also have the same wide brown eyes, same smile, same laugh, same pout. It's hard for him to be around them after what had happened.

"I know it's stupid, it's not even his fault that we got divorced, but it's just… just…"

"He reminded you too much of her." He finishes Pete's hanging sentence in a whisper.

Pete nods, a ghost of a smile appearing on his face. "But everything's all fine now. I learned how to accept the fact that things sometimes will never go the way you expect them to."

"Honestly, I love that kid more than anyone. There's nothing I wouldn't do for him." He chuckles softly to himself, and Patrick smiles at the sight. Even though they only get to know each other for two months, he can tell that Pete is a genuine person.

"Do you have someone like that?" Pete lifts up his head to look at him in question. "Like Bronx is to me?"

His lips curve into a soft smile as two faces pop into his mind. "Yeah. I do."

-

"Dad! I'm back!"

Patrick stifles a chuckle when Pete places a finger on his lips and winks at him. "I'm in the kitchen!"

Light footsteps are heard in the hallway, followed by a loud thud that Patrick guesses is Bronx's backpack being dropped on the floor. He starts to bounce a little on his feet, excited and anxious and too swallowed by nerves to even notice the hand on his arm.

"Did you make brow- Trick!" Bronx exclaims happily as soon as he steps into the kitchen, and he runs to him to give him a hug. Patrick laughs and hugs him back, pulling him up off the ground. "I can't believe you're here!"

"Thank your Dad for that." Patrick grins, placing the boy back down and watching him giving the same bear hug to his father. "Thanks, Dad."

Pete ruffles Bronx's hair, and the scene makes Patrick's stomach flip for some unknown reason. "We made you brownies too."

"Oh, good. I'm starving." Bronx complains as he climbs onto the stool with Pete's help. Patrick goes to cut the brownies into square pieces, letting the other two to catch up with one another. When he places a piece on each of their plates, Bronx tugs on his arm.

"Trick, guess what? Mom wants to meet you!"

Colour drains from his face, anxiety beginning to sprout its head. _More_ new people? "W- What? She wants to meet me?"

Bronx nods his head fast, beaming. "Yeah. I told her all about you! She really wants to meet you, but she's in a hurry just now, so… oh, wait!" Bronx's eyes light up with an idea, and he takes out his phone from his pocket, unlocking it and opening the album, tapping on a picture.

"See, this is my Mom." He points to the blond woman smiling and holding a baby girl in the picture, and Patrick can't help smiling, his nerves forgotten in the mean time. Pete was right. Bronx does look like his Mom, especially the blond hair. "And this is my half-sister! Her name's Jagger. She's really smart, and we always play puzzles together."

Patrick nods as the boy continues to chatter beside him, and his eyebrows furrow slightly when he spots a man standing behind the two in the picture. "Who's that?"

"That's Evan. Mom married him a couple of years ago. I was the ring bearer at the wedding, and it was amazing! Mom's really pretty in her dress, and I got to walk down the aisle too! The wedding was so-"

Married? Patrick's head shoots up to look at Pete, who is smiling down at his son. He knows Pete's divorced, but he thought that both parties remain single.

He doesn't expect for Pete's ex-wife to marry someone else.

Sure, Pete said that he's already moved on, that he's already accepted everything, but there must be a little bit of feeling for his ex-wife lingering still in his heart.

Pete's eyes meet his in a combination of befuddlement and worry. Patrick shakes his head at the silent question coming from the other man, and he smiles to assure him that it's nothing. Pete arches his eyebrows, as if saying _'Whatever you say.'_

"I really want you to meet Mom one day." Bronx sighs, unknowingly interrupting their mental conversation. "I want you to meet everyone in the family so they know how cool you are."

Patrick laughs nervously at that, not knowing what to say to that. On one hand, he's flattered that someone actually thought he's _cool_ , but on the other hand, he's terrified of meeting new people, especially in large groups.

"Oh, come on, B." Pete scoffs as he drapes his hand around Patrick's shoulder. "Trick here is already family."

"Yeah! We're, like, the smallest coolest family ever! We'll have pizza every dinner, and then go-kart race every weekend, and then-"

Even when both Pete and Bronx are rattling off the activities they can do together, all he can focus on is the weight and the heat of Pete's hand seeping under his shirt and spreading on his skin.

-

After getting back from Pete's, Patrick can't help thinking the conversation he had with Pete. He certainly learned a few things from and about the older man, and, as he sits on the couch in the living room and stares at a particular contact in his phone, he figures that maybe… maybe he'll take Pete's advice.

Maybe he'll rub that salve on the wound.

He taps on the call button, leg bouncing in jitters waiting for the call to connect. When he hears a click, he swallows and inhales deeply. "Hey, how are you?"

_"Patrick! It's so good to hear from you again. How are things over there?"_

"Pretty good, I guess." He smiles, feeling his muscles relaxing at the voice. He catches sight of Bogart nuzzling against his leg, and he bends forward to scratch between the dog's ears. "What about you?"

_"Oh, you know. Same old, same old. Work's been piling lately, and there's- hey- hey- keep it down. I'm on the phone."_

_"Who is it?"_

_"Who are you talking to?"_

_"Your Uncle Tricky."_

Patrick grins in delight when two loud squeals are heard, though he has to pull the phone away from his ear a little to keep his eardrum intact.

_"I wanna talk to him!"_

_"Me first! Me first!"_

_"No! Me first!"_

_"Hey, hey! No fighting!"_

"It's okay, Gordon." Patrick assures him. "We can catch up in a while. Let me talk to the kids. I miss them, to be honest."

 _"If you say so, Rick."_ Gordon laughs from the other end of the line, and he hears the phone being passed before two different familiar voices greet him.

_"Uncle Tricky! We miss you!"_

_"Uncle Tricky! Uncle Tricky! Guess what happened today?"_

Leaning back into the couch, he lets Bogart jump into his lap and curl on him, and he rests his hand on the sleeping dog, stroking the fur gently and listening to the tales of the two children over the phone.

For once, he feels content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave some comments!


End file.
